


A Little Lost in NYC

by DarkShadows_EvilMind



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Caregiver!Eddie Kaspbrak, Developing Relationship, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Good Significant Other, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Little!Richie Tozier, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con Elements, Past Steve Covall/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Eddie Kaspbrak/Bottom Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadows_EvilMind/pseuds/DarkShadows_EvilMind
Summary: Following a horrific breakup from his long-time partner and former manager, Richie has moved to New York and found himself in a rut. Maybe it's anxiety, maybe it's depression... Maybe it's both. He doesn't know, but he wakes up alone and spends his nights alone, too afraid to feel anything in fear it might hurt. The loneliness is starting to crush him, though, so one night he decides to take a leap of faith and log in to a forum for others like him. He just hopes that everything Steve said about him wasn't true and that there might be someone out there who could, in fact, like him.Eddie is new to this whole scene, but he's eager to find a little and try it out. He knows he's got a lot to learn, just as he know RockEmSockEmRich.ard has some glaring red flags all around him, but he's pretty sure Richard is worth a shot. If anyone knows a thing about being manipulated and controlled, it's him. He just hopes he can help Richie heal, because otherwise all the fun socks he bought are going to go to waste... And the coloring books. And the toy cars. Maybe he's in over his head.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Steve Covall/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had an anxiety attack last night and this was what my brain came up with as a method of calming me down. Abused Richie and Overly-Affectionate Eddie for a new take on your "Love Fixes Everything" cliche. Eddie cannot fix him, but that doesn't mean he can't give it a shot! Heed the tags, please. There may be flashbacks/nightmares that depict what Richie was subjected to in his past relationship, but all of those chapters will be preceded by a trigger warning.
> 
> Welcome to my weird mind, and please let me know what you think! Not too much littleness this chapter, but it's a process learning to open up and let people in. Give Rich some time.

Richie woke up in a cold sweat, chest tight and hurting with each frantic beat of his heart. The first time this happened, he’d called a fucking ambulance thinking it was a heart attack—sure it was a heart attack. Nope. One huge bill for an emergency room visit later and he discovered it was “just” anxiety. Waking up feeling like his chest was about to explode didn’t feel like “just” anything, but what did he know? He was a comedian, not a healthcare professional.

A couple of cheesy and fruitless psychiatric appointments later and he had sleeping pills he didn’t take that were supposed to help and tablets for a bunch of other shit. All they did was mask his symptoms, and the cure for it all was something he couldn’t see himself doing anytime soon. Regular therapy sessions? Sitting and talking it out? What was he? Some sort of basket case?

Living in denial wasn’t helpful and he knew that, but neither was masking symptoms with pills. So, Richie just tolerated it and grew comfortable knowing that when he woke up feeling like he was going to die, he wasn’t actually that lucky—his brain and his body were just working together to make sure he suffered. Business as usual.

It hadn’t always been this way, but for two years he’d grown accustomed to living like a car with the check engine light burning on the dash. Part of it just came with his age, the rest came from the fallout…

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if his relationship was the only thing that got wrecked. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t almost taken his career with it. He was doing better now, financially at least, and had been making more appearances and had a recurring role on two different TV shows. His stand-up was at a total standstill though...but that was what happened when your agent aka your manager aka your tour manager aka your PR rep aka your partner was a gas-lighting, abusive, manipulative prick and took all your connections with him when he left you high and dry.

Whatever. Richie’s new manager was fine—probably better if Richie had to guess. But with the renewed success came more stress, which led to more night terrors and ‘cardiac event’-like symptoms.

At least he stopped remembering the nightmares. 

That being said, two recurring roles and a few guest appearances didn’t exactly spell Big Money. He auditioned for movie spots, leading roles, supporting cast roles… He got callbacks on some of them but so far nothing had really stuck. Soon, his manager promised him. Soon it would all be business as usual—or he could work with some writers and put another tour together to remind people that he was funny and entertaining and worth spending money on. 

Should probably do that… 

It was just hard to feel motivated, even with his bank account draining more and more each day. He’d had to sell off his house and settle for one smaller. Traded in his car for one more practical. (A red Mustang was just as good as a red Ferrari, right? Both had horses on them… He liked horses about as much as the color red so he’d call that a victory.)

Richie Tozier felt like a washed-up has-been. Richie Tozier probably _was_ as washed-up has-been… 

Even so, his non-stop pity-party hadn’t done him any favors the past two years. Steve took their friends with him when he left, and all Richie had was his accountant/advisor left. Stan was cool, but he probably didn’t need a washed-up has-been comedian bothering him half as much as Richie made a point to. It was hard not to latch onto him, though, when his first response to Richie’s email stating that there had been a separation from him and Steve Coval and some funds needed moved around was, “I’m sorry to hear that, but I never liked him anyway.” Stan the Man was the one who made it personal. After that, he was stuck with Richie texting him stupid shit like what happened at the coffee shop and who he saw while backstage at the Late Late Show. Stan always answered. 

To use one of Steve’s favorite expressions, he was asking for it.

So, when Richie woke up thinking he was going to die again, his natural response was to roll over, slap his glasses on his face, and text the friend he paid to have while his eyes were still adjusting.

_Wokeu p dyeing again._

And, minutes later, Stan answered. 

_Stan the Man: That’s amazing. What color?_

_Blue._

_Stan the Man: I sense a joke about the state of your genitalia is imminent. May I recommend a dating app?_

Ouch, but touche. Stanny-boy had a point.

_Already tried that. They say I’m too weird. No takers._

_Stan the Man: Unfortunately your finances aren’t in the place where I can suggest ‘hookers and blow’ as an option but it may be your last resort. Have you thought about taking out a payday loan?_

_Come on now Stan the Man! You know my credits shot._

It wasn’t, but that made it all the more funny.

They texted like that all morning, the companionship more than anything taking the edge off. He had no other outlet. He was too stressed to create anything, too depressed to bother trying… He was lonely. It was his own fault and he could come to terms with that, but he was still lonesome. It wasn’t a lie. About four months ago he’d joined an app with no success. He went on two dates and the whole time felt sick to his stomach and anxious. Every man he met just looked to him like Steve Covals in waiting. 

That was probably his own fault for singling out men with dark hair and dark eyes like a fucking idiot. If everyone he met looked like Steve, everyone he met was going to remind him of Steve. 

It also didn’t help that he was a giant fucking insecure mess of a man with so many fucking secrets he was pretty sure that Steve hadn’t been wrong when he spouted off that no one else was ever going to want him, that no one else was ever going to put up with him. He was a freak… A fucking pervert. A fucking weirdo. 

He was just lucky Steve hadn’t slipped anything about their private life to the media. That was how the nightmares really started—worrying that he’d wake up one day to find Steve’s collection of questionable photographs spread across the internet. God, he’d fucking hang himself if those ever got out. He didn’t care if that made him look worse. He was stupid to have let Steve take pictures of him like that in the first place. 

He’d rather his fucking nudes get leaked than those…

( ) ( ) ( )

The first time Eddie logged into the website after carefully crafting his profile, he was so inundated and overwhelmed with messages that he panicked and closed the lid of his laptop and hid from it for two days—as though all of his personal laptop was now infested with the plague. 

All he did was make one post in the forum and out of nowhere these people started pouring in. He had nightmares about it, the other users like zombies forcing their way in through all the windows of his big, empty house. They were screaming and growling and shouting at him, all the while clawing around the walls with their arms clad in fun patterned pajamas. 

It was just his subconscious bubbling to the surface, he reassured himself. Just his old anxieties and fears trying to hold him back yet again. He could fight it. He _would_ fight it. And it wasn’t going to stop him from moving forward with his dreams—no matter how unorthodox or how taboo. 

Ever since he’d been a kid, Eddie had always been smothered and yet also very responsible. His mother would’ve drowned him in her love if she could, and yet he was also responsible for caring for her every need. It was unhealthy, of course he knew that now, but that side of him just never left… It was never really fulfilled. He was caring. He was nurturing. He wanted to care for his partner in ways most adults did not care to be cared for. He didn’t want to “replicate the cycle” the way his ex-wife accused him of doing. He just wanted to be a caregiver, a provider and protector and…

Even now, in the back of his head, he could hear Myra screaming at him. _“Just have children with me! Just be a father! Stop trying to be sick!”_ That was how everyone would see him, Eddie feared. As sick. 

That was how Myra saw him, he realized. And that was the moment he realized he needed to file for divorce. He didn’t want to be with someone who thought he was sick. His online friends didn’t think he was sick… They said he just needed to go deeper and Eddie finally felt ready to take that plunge.

So he did. And he joined the forum and after his two day panic attack, gave it another shot.

Many, many, many of the messages he had were cringe-worthy and awful. There wasn’t much moderation and he had everything from solicitations for sex to nude photographs waiting for him. He was seriously starting to doubt his online friends’ recommendations for this place, but he was urged to give it another try. You had freaks everywhere, they said. The good users had to deal with the bad both ways—both the littles and the caregivers. Be thankful, one of them said, he didn’t have to worry about a creepy caregiver trying to take advantage of him. He just had raving, wannabe Sugar Babies. 

He could handle that.

Sure he could.

So, with a nice cup of herbal tea at his side, Eddie set to work restructuring his profile and checking out some of the forums and posts. He ignored a lot of the alerts he had at the top of his screen and focused on being the one to make the first move. That was okay to do, his friends reassured him. He was allowed to not answer the people who popped up. Most of them “just wanted the one thing” from him and he didn’t need all of that. 

Eddie spent his evening reading some informative posts for newbies and reading over the comments and reactions, gauging the interest and responses he saw from other caregivers and the littles, too. He snooped on some profiles, his chest feeling tight whenever he saw pictures of littles with their caregivers together. They all looked so happy and it left him feeling a mix of jealous and sad. He could have this too, he had to remind himself. It would just take time. This wasn’t a transaction like buying a house or a car. It was a relationship. It was personal and he had to put in effort to find the right one, and make sure that he _himself_ was the right person for any little that he met. 

He just hoped there was someone out there for him. His friends all said he’d be fine, but he didn’t know… Maybe he lacked the confidence. Myra had sort of stumbled into his life (well, okay, she plowed into it like a bull in a china shop if he was being frank) and it just...happened. This felt so much more involved, but he was also told that true love didn’t come from effort—it came naturally. 

Too much. Too much! Too much thinking.

He shook his head, drank more tea, and went back to the forums. The only downside to the forum, aside from the solicitations and the nudes, was how spread out everyone was. There was no way to limit the range of people you met. He could talk to someone in New York or China… He wasn’t exactly interested in anything long distance, so whenever he came across a lg or lb seeking a caregiver, he had to double check the locations. 

He was in New York… It shouldn’t be so hard to find other people in New York!

Eddie felt like his specifications shouldn’t be so difficult to meet, especially since he was happily, confidently bisexual and was open to anyone who might be interested in him. He was, of course, a newbie to this and happy to let any little who was more experienced than him give him pointers (he was by no means a know-it-all) and work out some common grounds. While he would prefer not to have sex with his little while they were in their space (it just seemed so wrong to him to interrupt something so wholesome and pure with something so carnal) but if the little could show him how to do it properly, he would be open to trying… He was open. 

He guessed that was his one, strong selling point. He was open to new things, no matter how scary. (Except unprotected sex, of course. There were some risks he didn’t see as worth taking.)

Eddie scrolled through posts for about an hour and a half, refreshing now and then and delighting at the pictures that were shared. A new post was at the top of the forum simply titled “A little lost in New York,” and Eddie clicked on it straight away. New York? Yes! Little? Indeed the OP was, and Eddie’s heart ached for him right away. 

_Hi. I’ve been lurking here for a month. Got lots of dick pics, not a lot of attention… Uh… This is my first post. Can you tell? I don’t know what to say. I’m not in sales. How do I sell myself? But like...for a cg/partner not sex? I used to work Hollywood Blvd so I got that part worked out. (That’s a joke. But only kind of. The prostitute part was a joke. I waited tables for a bit, then I was on a billboard right across from the place. Wild.)_

_In case you missed it, I’m not a hooker. Please stop sending me dick pics._

_Whoa! You’re still reading?_

_Okay… About me. Uh, I’m new to New York and yes, I’m a little and yes I am lost. I lived in Los Angeles for about fourteen years. Now I live in New York because it was as far as I could get to move away from my ex without leaving the country. In case you missed THAT, I have all my baggage with me._

_Whoa… You’re STILL reading? Are you like...messed up or something or is it my excellent play on words? I’ve got innuendos for days if that’s your thing._

_I’m a comedian. Kind of a has-been right now but that can change. We’re working on it. Uh… About me… I’m bad at this._

_I’m usually hyper. If you want to be my caregiver I will never go down for a nap without a fight. You might actually have to Mike Tyson me to get me to go down. I like to color but never inside the lines. (You can say I like to live on the edge.) I love toy cars and have a matchbox collection that would probably fetch a small fortune at auction if there even is such a thing as a toy car auction. Even if it’s not very little of me, I love car shows. The small town ones where they usually sell ribs and funnel cakes across the parking lot. I don’t need more sugar but I love it anyway. I like going to places outside but I can’t dress little when I do. Too many people. Too much attention. You can’t exactly slide under the radar if you’re a 6ft weirdo. I’m kind of hard to miss… And my face was on a billboard or a hundred so people might recognize me._

_I wish that were made up. I’ve been in a slump two years. They probably wouldn’t recognize me._

_I told you I suck at this._

_So… Yeah. About me. I’m a loser lost in New York hoping to find a caregiver (mommy would be great, daddy would be better) or a friend who just...gets it. I promise I won’t make you hold all my baggage. Unless you want to. Since it seems to matter on here, my package is pretty huge._

_Uh… So, yeah. You’re welcome._

_If you want to talk, cool. If you want to meet up maybe if you’re in New York, we can get pancakes at this place I know or coffee. (I’ll just have a hot chocolate if you order for me, though. It’s my favorite. Not that that matters.) Very interested in cg/lb relationship if possible. Very interested in just having a person to talk to, too. If you’re in New York, hit me up with some suggestions. I don’t know where to go and I’m afraid to get knifed so I’ve just stayed in my new house forever. It’s lonely in here._

_And, yeah. That’s me. Thanks for...coming._

_R.  
_

It came with a picture of feet clad in dinosaur socks and nothing else, but they were so cute. Such a cute print. And dinosaurs? Eddie’s second favorite after trains.

This poor little, username: RockEmSockEmRich.ard, sounded so _sad._ Breakups were hard for anyone let alone a little. He was all by himself in a strange new city, hiding himself away and too insecure to do much about it. Yes, Eddie could see all the red flags. Self-deprecation, supposed celebrity or former, recent breakup… All the red flags were there, but so was a person. A sad and lonely person with no one and nothing in New York by the sounds of it. 

He refreshed the post to see any comments that may have appeared while he was reading, but there were none. Not too uncommon, especially on a long message that spurned sexual advances. So, Eddie’s reply was the first.

_Hello, R!_

_I’m sorry you’re worried about getting knifed in New York. It can be scary if you go to the wrong spots. I’ve lived in New York for almost twenty years, so I can definitely help you find your way around! Isn’t it crazy how a big city with so many people can leave you feeling lonely? I know it’s that way for me, too, sometimes. It’s very hard to make friends if you don’t know where to go._

_I have to mention, I LOVE your socks. Are dinosaurs your favorite?_

_Feel free to send me a private message if you want or we can keep talking here._

_Your Friendly New Yorker,_

_Eddie._

It was short and to the point, but Eddie didn’t want to look odd and comment on every single paragraph in R.’s post. He hoped his interest in the dinosaur socks would help cheer him up, though after a couple of minutes he started to worry that he might’ve made himself look like a foot-fetishist. 

A little while later, though, he had an alert at the top of his screen and a message from RockEmSockEmRich.ard

_Cars are my favorite. But thank you for noticing my socks and not my monster feet._

That was all. Shit. He thought Eddie was one of those foot-fetish people! He just meant to compliment the dinosaurs!

_My mistake. Do you have any pictures of your Matchbox Car collection? It sounds impressive. Any favorites in the bunch?_

_Trains have always been my favorite but I only have one model one and it goes around the bottom of my Christmas tree every year._

_Also, I don’t think you have monster feet. They look like very cute feet with very cute socks._

He wasn’t making himself sound any better on the foot thing, but was he supposed to just ignore the self-deprecation?

He had to refresh the screen for R (probably Richard)’s message to pop up a few suspenseful minutes later. The message contained two photos—one of a red sports car and another of the Matchbox version of the same car.

_This one’s my favorite. It’s not worth anything but I used to have one. Now I have this little one instead. Do you have a car? I don’t like the subway but if you like trains you probably do huh?_

Eddie stared at the message a while, then found himself compelled to do a reverse image search on the photo of the red sports car. A Porsche? He wasn’t so sure if this person was who they claimed to be and didn’t want the charade to go on too long if that’s all it was. He didn’t feel up to being catfished. He’d had several of his online friends mention it happening and people even getting blackmailed because of it. 

The picture, though, did not match anything in Google, but he was referred to other images of the same kind of car. A Ferrari. Bright, candy red Ferarris.

_That’s a very nice car! The big one, too! I don’t know if I’d feel safe driving in one of them. I have a boring old Cadillac myself. But it has high safety ratings. :-)_

_I’m not a big fan of the subway. It’s a little crowded and dirty, but I’ll take it if I need to get somewhere and driving isn’t practical. Did you have to give up your big car because of New York driving?_

Eddie made himself a second cup of tea while he waited for Richard’s reply. 

_Haha. That’s cute. No. I lost a shitton of work when I left LA. No work? No fancy car. I DO work. I’m not like a deadbeat or anything. Just not as much. I guess I’m on a hiatus. I don’t really want to talk about work. I just like cars..._

So Eddie talked to him about cars and got more pictures of his toy car collection which was being stored in sad plastic totes because Richard hadn’t taken the time to put together the shelf he’d intended to display them on. Eddie kept having this idea in his head of Richard being in a small apartment somewhere in the city only to be met with different pictures that showed bigger rooms in what was obviously a house. And a nice one at that.

Maybe he wasn’t all talk? None of the images Eddie cautiously reverse searched matched anything on the web. They seemed legitimate. Eddie’s confidence that this wasn’t some ruse grew stronger when the other man asked if he wanted to talk on the phone for a little while. 

_Just so you know, it’s a Google phone number so if you try to put it online, it’s not going to pop for anyone._

That sounded just fine… Because Eddie had planned to do the same thing and use a generated phone number instead of giving out his own. 

Still, his stomach was full of butterflies as he listened to the phone ring. He had nothing to lose if this person wasn’t who they claimed to be or if the call didn’t go anywhere. He was just a lonely New Yorker calling another lonely New Yorker. Nothing odd or off about that.

There was definitely something odd or off about Richard though.

In place of a hello, he got a “Hey, do you recognize my voice?”

“Um… No? Should I?” Eddie asked.

“No… No. Okay, but what about _now?”_ He then slipped into some imitation of Elvis Presley out of nowhere and then right back to the voice he’d been using. “Anything?”

“Elvis? You moved to New York?” Eddie offered, not sure what reaction this man wanted from him.

“Sorry… That was weird. Your tone says enough. I don’t think you know who I am at all, Right Said Ed.”

“Excuse me?” Same voice now, British accent.

“Sorry. I think I’m funnier than I am.”

Eddie shook his head and chuckled. “That’s okay. Should I call you Elvis or Richard?”

“Uh… Richard.” He actually sounded like he was deliberating on it. Maybe he forgot he put it in his username. 

“Well, hi, Richard. I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie,” he repeated, as if trying the name out. “Eddie Spaghetti. Okay. Uh… So how did you find...the site?”

“Some friends I made online referred me. They said it was a good place to meet littles.”

“Yeah? You met any?”

“Not...really. I’m pretty new. I just joined two days ago, so...” He chuckled nervously and swirled his tea around in his mug.

“Oh. I’ve been lurking for a while. Guess...today I decided to finally stop sitting around and actually do something about…well, me. Do something about me.” That haze of sorrow was so present in his tone of voice. 

“I saw in your post about the breakup. That had to be hard for you… Little or not,” Eddie offered. 

“Yeah… How hard are you gonna laugh when I say it was two years ago?”

Two years ago? And he was just now getting back into dating!?

“Well, how long was the relationship?”

“A while.”

“A while, like...three years? Five years?”

“Ten...”

“Ten!?” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice but Richard didn’t seem to mind. He just giggled in this cute way that made Eddie feel even worse for him.

“Yeah, somewhere in that ballpark.”

“And...were they a...a caregiver?”

“He would’ve preferred to call himself a ‘Daddy Dom.’ I’m more inclined to use the term ‘sadistic fuck,’ if we’re being specific.”

“Oh, no...” Eddie felt the dread flood him. 

“I’m pretty sure I mentioned there was baggage.” He scoffed then, and let out this heavy sigh. It was almost as if he wanted to end this before it even got started. His defenses were up high, his scars running so deep.

“Well—He… Did he hurt you?”

“Only a lot.” Another laugh. “It’s okay though! I went to therapy. I should be fine.”

“I hope… I hope it helped. My last relationship wasn’t that healthy either. Uh… I’m also divorced. I don’t know why I said also. You didn’t say you were married. That was weird,” Eddie said quickly, laughing nervously at himself.

“I mean, we were contractually linked to each other, just not in the marital sense. It was ten years. Anyway, go on. Married, you say?” British again. Did he do that when he was nervous? “A little?”

“Uh, no… No, that was part of the end of things. She caught me with some...stuff. Not like child porn! God, obviously not that! Shit… Just forums like this one and...that kind of thing. She was not amused. Myra was _not_ amused.” Eddie was so mortified he wanted to die. He didn’t have to explain himself like this, like he had some great secret to hide, when he was talking to another person in the same sort of community as him.

“Yeah, I think the whole scene is pretty polarizing. Either you get it or you’re creeped out by it. Sorry that happened to you. Steve… He introduced me to this stuff. Got me comfortable with myself and all of it… Just didn’t work out. Different mindsets I guess.”

“Well, there’s a lot of differences—or different ways to approach ‘the scene,’ I guess. I always… Or, no. I meant, I never really saw it as a...a _sexual_ thing, you know? Just...I like taking care of people and littles are always so cute.”

“I saw that on your profile. Non-Sexual… But you still want to have sex with your partner, right?”

“My partner? Oh, shit. You mean...if I _had_ a little. Yes, I mean… I suppose. Just not when they’re in their little space unless that’s something they want. I don’t want to feel like I’m perverting something wholesome. There’s nothing sexy about coloring books or nap time...” Was he making himself look bad? He felt like he was. “But outside of little space, I would love to just have a partner, too. Adult companionship in that sense, I guess.”

“Are your corporate?”

“Am I what?”

Again, Richard giggle at him.

“Sorry. Are you like a Wall Street guy? You talk like a highly educated...banker guy. You sound like my friend Stan.”

“Oh! Oh, no. I don’t work on Wall Street. I do insurance. I work _for_ corporate in that sense, I guess.”

“Ah, hotshot insurance salesman. I see.”

“No! No, not sales. Never. Oh, God. Too much stress. I would be popping antacids all day if I worked sales. My job’s boring. I have a boring old man job.”

“Better than a boring old hand job.” He said it as if without thinking, then caught himself and tacked on, “Sorry. That was… If I just said I had brain damage, would that make this better? Anyway, you don’t sound like an old man.”

“Well, I’m forty, so—”

“What!? Did corporate send you for me? I’m forty, too. Forty, also. Not, like, forty-two. I’m forty. Four zero.” He actually sounded excited, and Eddie wouldn’t lie, he was a bit excited, too. Ages could be listed on the profile but didn’t have to be. Eddie selected to show a range 30-50, and Richard had just left ‘unspecified.’ 

“Well, look at that. So, tell me. When you’re little, how many are you?”

Richard made some surprised, somewhat choked noise, like he’d been caught off guard by the question, then was silent a moment or two before practically whispering, “Around...maybe, I don’t know… Five or nine. Four or nine… I can use the bathroom on my own. I know that much. Not quite ready to go back to being in diapers. Give me another twenty years at least for that.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. I’m not the biggest fan of cleaning up that kind of mess.”

“Mmph. More power to the people that are. They are better than me.”

“What are your favorite things to do when you’re little?”

“Color… I’m not any good at it but I like to draw.” His voice changed again, not like a little space sort of change, but like he was sad—or nervous. Or ashamed of himself… “I like...my cars and I had some stuffed animals but they’re gone. Most of what I liked to do is gone.” 

“How do you mean? Gone?”

“Like a Taylor Swift song. Burned and gone. I burnt all that shit.”

“Well, it sounds like you need to get some new toys.”

“Am I supposed to give you my Amazon wish list now or something? I don’t really need a Sugar Daddy. I’m… I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing on that forum, man. I don’t really have anything anyone needs, and no one really has anything I need...”

“Company?” Eddie offered. The red flags were flapping more vibrantly and loudly, but Eddie kept moving forward anyway, like a fool. There was something there. There was something under the surface that Eddie just couldn’t reach. 

“Um… Yeah. I mean...company would be nice. It’s rough. Dude, it’s fuckin’ rough, man. I’ve basically been in hiding for two years and I want...I want my life back and that means letting people in, but then I’m, like, ‘shit, I let the wrong person in and pictures of me in fuckin’ footie pajamas are going to be all over the internet and there goes the last of my career and I’m fucked.’”

“I could...draft a non-disclosure agreement if that would make you feel better?” Eddie offered. Who was this guy? Eddie found himself going over to Google on his laptop, clicking off of RockEmSockEmRich.ard’s profile to do so. He typed in the name Richard and ‘comedian’ and was met with about twenty different faces—young and old, none of whom he’d ever heard of. 

“I’m just being dramatic. Sorry, I’m… I _do_ want to meet someone and you’re like...perfect. You’re actually my age and you haven’t tried asking me about my dick yet. I get so many fucking dick pics, dude… It’s fucking exhausting. None of them are even half as big as mine and they’re all running around showing it off, like, ‘Nice, Twizzler, bro.’”

“Well, for reasons very similar to your own, I don’t exactly want pictures of my dick on the internet. How about… How about this, how about we exchange emails? Don’t have to be on the forum. You can take a break from all the dick pics. And we can keep having calls. Maybe sometime we can meet up for some hot chocolate.”

“I like hot chocolate,” Richie said, that same sad, shy voice like he forgot he mentioned that in his post.

“Well, if our talks go well, maybe you’ll let me buy you some.”

“I do like hot chocolate…” He said this as if there were something else on his mind, but he never came out with it and Eddie didn’t pry. “You’re really in New York?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Have you ever been to the Staten Island Zoo?”

“I have! It’s a very wonderful zoo.” He took Myra there around Christmastime a couple years back and she complained without end about the cold. 

“You have to ride a ferry to get there from here.”

“You’re on the mainland!”

“I’m in the Bronx… The Bronx sucks.”

“I’m pretty sure all of New York sucks if you’re from sunny California.” Where was he with a house in the Bronx that sucked?

“Yeah… It’s like, rich houses, rich houses, oh shit, I’m gonna get stabbed, rich houses. I hate it here.”

“You sound miserable.”

“I am miserable…”

“Sounds like nap time.”

“Bedtime.”

“Bedtime,” Eddie agreed.

They talked a little longer, then exchanged emails which Richard was quick to confirm—sending Eddie an email before he was even off the phone. At the end of it, Eddie had some mixed feelings but he was trying to keep an open mind. It sounded like what Richard had been through was devastating for him, and if he was a celebrity like he was implying, then it would make sense for him to have trouble opening up. It was nice that he didn’t drag up sex right away or try to solicit pictures of Eddie’s face or his body or anything like that. There were no weird pet names being attributed to him that he didn’t ask for.

For right now, they were just two strangers getting to know one another. Eddie could handle that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so shocked that people are seeming to enjoy this story! I was afraid it would be too angst heavy, but I am a 900% angst writer who tries to do fluff and then fails. Thank you so much for reading! I will hopefully have more done soon. We get to see a tiny glimpse of Richie's little side this time, and a bunch of Eddie being Eddie.

_You’d be proud of me, Stan the Man! I have a penpal._

_Stan the Man: That’s amazing! Was he assigned to you by the prison?_

Richie laughed at that and texted back that no, in fact, he hadn’t gotten himself arrested but he did join a dating site. That was as far as he was willing to elaborate on what kind of site he’d actually wandered into. He’d been lurking there for a while, not really responding to anyone because none of the people who talked to him seemed interested in more than his dick. He thought to troll some of them, but even coming up with good jokes and schemes was exhausting. In the end, he finally broke down and made a post, and for three weeks running he’d been emailing almost non-stop with “Eddie K.” 

Eddie worked in insurance (a “boring old man job”) and drove an expensive car and sounded an awful lot like he lived on Staten Island. (Though Richie was basing that entirely off of Eddie’s “You’re on the mainland” comment and little else.) Eddie had money and he liked herbal tea. Every morning he started his day with some health food shake and an energy supplement that gave energy without “harmful” caffeine. 

He was a health nut and hypochondriac and had not a single time mentioned his dick or tried to email Richie photos of it. He was easy to get worked up, easy to make fun of, and downright perfect in every way. He was way too fucking good to be true, but for now Richie was letting himself swap out his regular glasses for rose-tinted ones and pretended he was living the dream.

_Stan the Man: It’s about time you got back out there. Any plans to meet?_

_Sunday brunch. Can you believe it?_

_Stan the Man: You getting up in time for brunch? Absolutely not._

_I know. I’ve gotta set ten alarms._

Stan replied with a gif of the white rabbit from _Alice in Wonderland,_ unwittingly sending Richie into a spiral of joy that immediately turned to horror and shame. Anything that used to make him feel little, anything that used to trigger him into _wanting_ to be little, now made his stomach feel sick and queasy. 

Eddie might be able to help with that...or this whole thing would go to hell in a handbasket. Richie wasn’t sure yet, but he was trying to be hopeful, trying to be optimistic. Eddie seemed nice and patient and understanding. He’d never had a little before and that was kind of scary, but it also...it was also reassuring in a way. He didn’t have any big expectations and Richie couldn’t disappoint him simply by failing to live up to some other person he’d never met. 

Well, he was still going to be a huge fucking disappointment, but at least not in that way. Steve made sure Richie was aware of all his flaws. It was a strength to know them going in so he wasn’t hurt when they ended up becoming deal-breakers later.

If he was lucky in all this, Richie reminded himself, he’d get laid for the first time in...an embarrassingly long time. If he was unlucky, he’d be right back where he started. And when your whole existence was that of a broken down, beat up old clunker, a few more dings and scratches would hardly even register.

Or so he hoped.

So he hoped…

The nightmares, at least, were lesser the nights leading up to his big date. He was nervous and excited and not quite sure how to dress. In the end, he went with Fuck It and put on jeans and a Hawaiian shirt like it was just another day in Cali even though it was cold as all fuck in New York. He wore a leather jacket that hardly kept out the chill and kept his hands stuffed deep in his pockets as he walked through the streets to get to the quaint little corner restaurant where Eddie wanted to meet for brunch. 

Even the sign out front was dripping with “Expensive.”

Being well off wasn’t one of Richie’s dating requirements, but it would help. If Eddie was already loaded, maybe he’d feel less inclined to blackmail him if he realized who he was. So far, it seemed like he didn’t. Richie even mentioned the shows he was on off-hand, asking if Eddie had caught the latest episode of _Wicked Spirits_ or if he watched _Small Fish._ Turned out, he didn’t watch much besides the Travel Chanel, HGTV, and crime documentaries. He wasn’t a big comedy fan… Wasn’t that interested in shows about people accidentally summoning ancient Greek Gods out of old wine decanters or wannabe mobsters who couldn’t con their way out of a paper bag. Cool. 

Still, Richie was famous (or used to be) and nervous, and hiding behind prescription sunglasses as he went into the restaurant. He didn’t expect a hostess to be standing _right there_ or for her to ask for his reservation. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know Eddie’s last name other than that it started with a K. He was left standing there, stammering with his hands shoved into his pockets, until he heard that familiar voice from the phone speak out from behind him. 

“Hi. Sorry. Uh—Richard? It’s Richard, right?” 

Richie felt all of his blood rush to head—everything burning from his chest up to the tips of his ears, thankful for his sunglasses for hiding his bulging eyes. He slowly turned to face the man who had come in, shorter than himself, kind of a small build, nice button down shirt and sports jacket… 

Shit… Richie was under dressed. 

“Uh… Yeah! Sorry. Richie’s...fine. It’s Richie.” He smiled nervously and Eddie smiled back, this crooked little grin that was almost a smirk—would be a smirk, really, if not for all the warmth in his huge brown eyes.

Huge. Eyes. Whoa. 

“Hi. Eddie,” the man said, gesturing to himself before turning his attention to the hostess. “Kaspbrak. Party of two? I called in a reservation.”

“Absolutely,” the hostess said, smiling politely though her eyes looked dead—like she wished they’d gotten their awkward first meeting taken care of out front and not in her line of sight—and then led them back to a small, black table by the windows. She gave them tiny, ornate paper menus and then scurried away to fetch water.

“Have you been here before?” Eddie asked him, still smiling. Why didn’t he look nervous? Why wasn’t he nervous?

“Um… No. I think I told you before, I don’t really leave the house. I mean, I _would_ if I knew where to go. If I tried to find this place on my own, they’d probably find me dead in the street.”

“You’re that afraid of New York?” He asked, face crinkling with sympathy—like he actually felt bad about it and not like Richie was some pathetic excuse for a man. 

“Sort of. I mean, in LA I knew to stay the fuck off Skid Row, but every street in New York looks like Skid Row to me. Even the grocery store near my house has all these sketchy looking people crowded around outside of it all night… I just get groceries delivered at this point. Not trying to get killed while buying a gallon of milk.” It only after their server came by and set down water for them and introduced herself that Richie realized he was still wearing his sunglasses. 

He tried to look natural as he took them off and ordered himself a cup of coffee, tucking his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his Hawaiian shirt after carefully taking his glasses out from the same place. He didn’t know why, but as soon as his glasses were on and he looked up, Eddie was staring at him again and their server was gone.

“What? Glasses a deal-breaker? I can take ‘em off but you’ll have to spoon feed me. Do you see how thick these lenses are?” He took his glasses off to show the edges—the thick glass that protruded almost dangerously from the thick plastic frames. “Blind as a fuckin’ bat. I can’t even get glasses in trendier styles. Lenses are too thick for wire frames.”

“Have you thought about Lasik?”

“Have _you_ thought about robots shooting lasers into your eyes?” Richie asked. Glasses were a deal-breaker. Good thing he hadn’t gotten his hopes up.

“Touche,” Eddie said, chuckling and looking down at his menu. “They’re cute on you. I like them.”

“What? Robot lasers?”

“No. Your glasses.”

“Why? Are you a _Harry Potter_ fan or something?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t like compliments. If you hang around me, though, you’re gonna have to get used to them.”

“I don’t mind compliments, I just don’t like fake ones. These glasses wouldn’t look cute on anybody. They’re thicker than Betty White’s thighs.”

“That’s a...wonderful visual. Thank you for that.” Eddie said, face crinkling up into a grimace this time as he reached for his glass of water and took a sip. As he did, the sleeve of his sports jacket rose up, revealing the silver band of fat Rolex.

“That’s a fancy watch.”

“Oh? Oh, yes. It was my birthday gift to me last year.” He smiled as he said it, then pulled his sleeve down like he was embarrassed about it. 

“See? You don’t like compliments either.” This, for some reason, got the other man’s cheeks to pink up and Richie couldn’t help but to smirk at him. 

He felt comfortable, he realized. He’d never been explicitly bad at socializing—he was a people person before everything in his life went to shit—but as soon as he realized how easy it was to talk to Eddie, even in person, his stomach started twisting and Richie found himself taking a long drink of water to fight back the nausea. It didn’t do him any good to get comfortable. It’d only end badly for him…

Richie did his best to keep himself in check as their server returned with his coffee and Eddie’s tea. He ordered himself chicken and waffles, wholly expecting something small and sad like overpriced chicken nuggets on a tiny sliver of waffle, and listened to Eddie’s modified order of the house special breakfast hash nixing the cheese and egg and going for double meat instead. 

“I have a lot of food sensitivities,” he said as soon as their server had walked away. “They’re really good about it here, not like some places.” He took a sip of his tea, then sucked the moisture off his lips—wholly unaware of Richie staring at him as he did.

They made small talk about New York until their food came out, Richie pleasantly surprised at how large a serving he actually ended up with. No tiny gourmet meal here! Just a serving made for a man. Perfect. Eddie asked him how he liked it, waiting until he’d swallowed the bite in his mouth before he did—which was good because Richie seldom had the forethought to swallow before opening his big yap—and then seemed pleased by the answer he got, expletives and all. 

“So… You really don’t recognize me,” Richie said, about halfway through their meal.

“I… I don’t. No,” Eddie said, smiling at him in this sheepish kind of way. “Should I?”

“I mean, I’m not Jay Leno, but for a minute I at least thought I was a household name.”

“I told you, I don’t keep up much with comedy.”

“That’s probably for the best. It’s weird when people know me. Groupies have never been my thing.”

“Do comedians have groupies?” Eddie asked, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

“More than you’d think. Let’s just say I wouldn’t have to try too hard to get a piece of ass if that’s all I wanted. Then again, all _you’d_ have to do is flash that shiny watch. All they want is the money anyway.” Turns out, they didn’t have to be groupies for that, either. Steve liked Richie’s bank account more than he ever liked Richie—and he liked all the money Richie made him on top of that, too. 

“So, then...what is it you’re looking for? I mean, I know...on the site. Yeah. But, are you looking for something more serious, or…?”

“I mean, I’m not good at casual flings. I’ve had them, sure. But… I don’t know. That shit’s exhausting. I’m too old to be trying to get twenty-year-olds to like me. I’m not cool. I’m not hip. I’m washed up and I’m fucking tired all the time. I need someone who just kind of gets that.”

“I see...” 

Yeah, not the best marketing pitch, but what was he supposed to do? Lie to this poor fucker?

“It… It sounds to me like you’ve had it rough the last couple of years.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you fuck your manager. You get fucked over. And over. And over again...” Now all he could think about was Steve. Steve who would probably be criticizing him for eating chicken and waffles because he needed to lay off the sugar. Steve who would probably try to get him to order off the kids menu in public when he knew Richie couldn’t handle that sort of attention—then tell him he wasn’t ‘very good’ at being small if he couldn’t go into his headspace with others around. 

Steve had just been trying to ruin him… He’d shown him that world and was going to use it to crush him. Kill him? Inherit all his stuff and assets? Fuckin’ monster. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re branching out again. I’ve really liked getting to know you and talk to you. I was so excited you actually wanted to get brunch. And you didn’t look disappointed to see me.”

“Usually it’s me who’s the disappointment. I’m a fuckin’ giant.” And being a fucking giant meant he was about worthless as a little. Especially when he was taller than his fucking caregiver. Eddie and Steve were about the same height. Same hair color. Same eye color. He went out and accidentally found another fucking Steve clone. At least this one didn’t have a fucking beard though.

“Why would that ever be disappointing?”

“Uh…because I think the term is _little,”_ Richie said, leaning over the table and whispering. To his concerns, Eddie just rolled his eyes.

“It’s a state of _mind,_ not a state of _being,”_ he said, as if that were so obvious—as if he were offended Richie had suggested otherwise. 

“Well, it’s good you think so, I guess. You’re one of the few.” Richie shook his head and took another drink from his cup of coffee. He was reminding himself of all the reasons why no one would ever want to be with him, sometimes Steve’s voice was in his head and sometimes it was just his own. All he knew was that Eddie was out of his mind if he thought Richie would be a good match for him. Out of his damned mind…

( ) ( ) ( )

He was trying to sabotage things. Eddie could see it clear as day. Richie would perk up one moment, and then say something to bring himself crashing right back down a moment later. He was lonesome and yet putting all of his worst traits on display instead of his best—trying to scare Eddie off. 

Trying to keep himself safe.

Eddie wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky for being able to see that all there was beneath the surface of Richie’s hot-and-cold demeanor was pain. A normal man probably would’ve ended the date and walked away, possibly after giving Richie the not so friendly tip to seek some counseling before trying to date again. Instead, Eddie let the other man’s insecure complaints about himself slide. When the other man excused himself to the bathroom, though, Eddie did take out his phone and Google “Richie Comedian” and found the exact person he had been sitting across from.

Richie Tozier. Stand-up comedian, supporting cast on two running TV shows, known for his voice impressions and a short-lived radio show in LA. He wasn’t Jay Leno, but he wasn’t a nobody either. He was a little startled by it, and it must’ve shown on his face because when Richie sat back down across from him, the first thing out his mouth was, “What? Did you Google me?”

What could Eddie say except yes? 

That made the other man laugh and then he started looking around like he was afraid someone else was watching them.

“Gonna blackmail me? Share my feet pics with the press? My car collection?”

“I don’t… I don’t need that kind of stress in my life,” Eddie answered, realizing the impression the words left were all wrong when hurt passed through Richie’s brilliantly blue eyes.

“Yeah. No. Totally. Dating a celebrity is _not_ what it’s cracked up to be.” He shot his gaze down at the table, looking frantic and sick in a matter of seconds—like he was panicked and about to bolt. His hands even started patting around his pockets for his wallet.

“That’s—What? No. I’m saying I don’t need the stress of talking to the paparazzi in my life—being one of _those_ people. I feel guilty enough about things in my life. I don’t need to give myself more reasons to feel like a jerk.”

Richie looked up at him then, eyes searching and hopeful. He stopped feeling around for his wallet at least.

“Oh. Well, when it comes to celebrities, I guess I’m not the worst to date. I mean, they don’t really follow me much unless I’m about to do a tour which...isn’t happening anytime soon.” He talked a little more about his job and what work was like for him now that he was in the city. He had to fly out to LA a few times a month to shoot episodes or make appearances, but otherwise he just sat around in his house by himself not sure what to do. He played video games sometimes, he said, but that was about it. No real hobbies. No real friends.

Here was a man who someone on the outside would say had everything, and yet Eddie was staring at someone with literally nothing more than money and time. Too much free time to let his mind eat itself alive.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me after this?” Eddie said, gesturing to their mostly empty plates. “I know a few good parks in the area or there’s an antique shop nearby.”

“Antiques?” Richie asked, face scrunched up a bit.

“Lots of old toy cars. Some vintage furniture, too, which is what I like looking at.”

“’S built better,” Richie said, nodding. His eyes were still bright from the mention of toy cars. He really did love them, that was plain to see.

“Would you like to check it out? There’s a place to get ice cream near there, too.”

“You invited me to brunch—you didn’t say you had a whole day planned,” Richie said. If not for his smile, Eddie would think he was complaining.

“If you turned out to be a loser, I didn’t want to be stuck spending all day with you,” Eddie said, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Uh, buddy? I’m pretty sure I’m a loser.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that.” Eddie shrugged again and finished off his tea. Richie, in turn, shook his head and turned his focus back to his plate.

After a brief argument about who was paying for the meal, the two set off for the antique shop walking shoulder to shoulder. Richie had put his sunglasses back on and walked hunched over like a man trying to hide. Was he insecure about his height? Afraid to be recognized? Eddie couldn’t tell, but he kept the question to himself.

It had to be hard for Richie to feel comfortable meeting someone else. He had a career he needed to uphold—and one in the public eye at that. Eddie was pretty confident his secret wouldn’t get leaked to his coworkers let alone the entire planet. Poor Richie didn’t have that luxury. It had to be so stressful for him to even be standing at Eddie’s side—worried that a slow press day would lead to his image being plastered in the tabloids. 

Even so, his joy became unmistakable as soon as they set foot in the antique shop. So many shiny toys and baubles. Eddie was seriously here to purchase a lamp he’d take home later in the week, knowing the shop well and knowing they’d hold things for him if he asked, but it was a much more enjoyable visit with Richie. He couldn’t keep his comments to himself, even if he tried, and his excitement commentary as they moved through the aisles and perused the shelves was absolutely adorable. 

“Oh, my gosh! I haven’t seen one of these things in years!” About vintage serving dishes of all things. “My _mom_ had one just like this! _Just_ like this one. Same design and everything.”

“Yeah? I know some of that stuff can be worth a lot of money.”

“Oh, trust me! I know all about that. I’m the one who broke it. I was probably...fourteen? Dropped the whole thing full of green bean casserole. Christmas Day… Got my ass beat for that.” He said this with a chuckle that sounded actually humored even though Eddie saw nothing funny in that at all. Not at _all._ “My mom got big into antiques before she died and I tell you what...every time they came up she reminded me how much her set would’ve been worth if I hadn’t gone and dropped the biggest piece.”

“Should’ve paid her out for it,” Eddie said, trying to force humor into his tone that he didn’t feel.

“Trust me, I paid off all her debts. I paid everything out.”

“How long ago did she pass?” Eddie asked, keeping his tone more friendly and sympathetic this time.

“It was a while ago. Am I dick for being more fucked up over a breakup than both my parents being dead? I feel like I am...”

“I don’t think so. I mean, were you close?”

“Kinda. More so to my dad. He died when I was in my twenties. Cancer. It was really sudden and...that one fucked me up and I think my mom just got mad that it didn’t bring me back home. I came in town for the funeral and then went right back to LA.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eddie said, staring at the glass dishes on the shelves. “My dad died of cancer, too, but I was just a little kid. I don’t even remember him. My mom, she had cancer. Died about two years ago.”

“Shit! That sucks… I’m sorry to hear that.” He did look sorry, too, and set the dish he was holding back on the shelf. “Were you guys close?”

“Closer than we should be. Moved her in with my wife and me near the end. They both drove each other crazy. Don’t know how I survived it.”

“Obviously your marriage didn’t,” Richie said, without missing a beat. Then his face looked shocked, like he wasn’t the person who’d said it and he looked at Eddie in wide-eyed fear. 

“Yes. Good observation.”

“My bad.”

Eddie shook his head and wandered through a few more aisles in awkward silence until Richie found another thing that sparked his interest. Some old books and magazines. It wasn’t until the upper level of the store that Eddie started to get a glimpse of the other man’s...littler self. He fawned over all the old toys. He stared at them all and pressed his face against the glass of some of the cases without mind for the germs or the streaks he was leaving.

“These are cool! These are so cool! I haven’t seen one of these in person!” His voice held so much joy and wonder—still restrained and Big, but holding all the delight of a little. 

“Yeah? You like those?” 

“Yes!” He pushed against the glass case a little harder when he said it and Eddie felt compelled to put a hand on his chest and gently guide him back from it. 

“I can get the shopkeeper to open the case. You don’t need to Hulk Smash your way into it. Okay?”

“Yes.” That same tone. That same joyful, almost little tone. 

“Okay. Wait here. I’ll go get her.”

“I can—I can come with you,” Richie said, shaking his head as if snapping himself out of his trance. “I mean. Wait, no. No, no. I don’t need to look at this. ‘Cause then I’m gonna buy it and it’s going to go in the bin with the rest. No. Never mind. What’s over here?” He started walking off in a different direction, skipping shelves upon shelves of cars and toys to settle on vintage clothing he clearly had no interest in although he pretended to.

Maybe he was just shy, Eddie thought to himself as he tried to pick Richie’s mood back up. Or maybe he really did want to motivate himself to build the shelf he meant to in order to display all of his cars properly. Either way, he didn’t seem too upset although he was a little less animated the rest of the time they were in the shop. Eddie paid for his lamp, asked Richie one last time if he was sure he didn’t want to see the cars, and then they were on their way to the ice cream parlor. They had a particularly delicious coconut ice cream that Eddie loved and Richie was in awe over the fifty different flavors, settling on multicolored “Superman” ice cream in a chocolate-dipped, sprinkle covered cone. 

It was chilly outside, but they still managed to enjoy their ice cream while making slow laps around the park. Richie didn’t even seem to notice the cold—he was just happily lapping at his ice cream. 

“When’s the last time someone took you out for a cone?” Eddie asked.

“Long time,” Richie answered. 

“Well, I’d love to take you out for ice cream again sometime. And I think I still owe you some hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate would be good,” Richie said, voice a little softer than before—smaller. Littler but not quite little. He was on the cusp but knew he couldn’t commit, knew he couldn’t go to that space. 

“I’ll find the best place in New York for hot chocolate and...how about I take you there next week. Wednesday night? I’ve got a half day at work to get some errands done and then I could be all yours.” Eddie smiled at him, hoping he wasn’t being too forward—hoping Richie felt what he did, too, so that they might see each other again, or at least keep calling and emailing if not. 

“Okay. Okay, but can I, like, have your actual phone number first? Emailing is cool but texts are nice too. I don’t have to worry so much about sentence structure.” In a blink, all the littleness left him and he was just a tall, awkward man not sure how to ask Eddie for his phone number. 

They exchanged numbers, then continued their stroll in the park until both of their ice creams were gone and they had nothing left but the chill. Eddie didn’t want to, but he knew it was time to head home. Richie seemed just as reluctant, but managed to turn away and stumble off toward the main street to hail a cab. 

Eddie wandered just a little further to call a cab of his own and then catch the ferry back to the island where his car was waiting. It came naturally for him once he was through his front door to text Richie and ask if he made it home safe. His reply came only a few moments later.

_Richie: Safe. Home. Ice cream coma zzz_

Eddie replied that he hoped Richie remembered to brush his teeth before going into his ice cream coma and was rewarded with a pouting emoji. 

Maybe it was foolish, but he began to feel optimistic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww yeah! Time for some Little!Richie (though it is a very sad, lonely lil Rich). Slight trigger warning for mentions of past abuse (kind of childhood abuse/neglect though only mentioned) and depression. Richie's not having a very good time being small by himself, and insecurity runs rampant. I know a lot people try to say Caregiver/Little kink comes from childhood trauma and for some that may be true, but it definitely isn't true/that way for everyone! Sometimes people just want to not have to worry for a little while. For Richie, however, there is a bit of that unaddressed trauma sprinkled underneath. Kudos to Eddie for being a good caregiver, even without the official title!
> 
> Thank you for reading! On to the story!

_I didn’t ask to be this way,_ Richie thought to himself as he sat cross-legged on the floor of his smallest spare room. He had Matchbox cars scattered around him, tracks and obstacles set up for them constructed on unsteady stacks of books. _I didn’t_ want _to be like this._ He had on adult-sized socks with childish print and baggy sweat clothes that made him feel a little less like a giant old man. On a frog-shaped plate, he had dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets that he’d accidentally burnt when using his oven. There were crumbs everywhere, mixed in with the toy cars, making a mess he was sad he’d have to clean later—angry at himself for letting that happen in the first place.

Richie didn’t know how he ended up like this, but you could trust that he did everything short of seeking professional counseling for it to figure out why. 

It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was an aching, burning need like thirst. Something he could try to ignore but could never avoid for long. There was nothing he could do about it. Try as he might, the urge would strike and he would become agitated and twitchy and anxious until he finally gave in to it like a junkie. There were worse things he could be doing, he guessed, than putting on over-sized clothes and pretending to be a toddler, but he still knew it was wrong.

There was something wrong with him, something so wrong that he could never live a normal life with a normal partner. He couldn’t just go out to a bar and meet someone and start a wonderful life together. He didn’t get to have that…

He’d been lucky to have Steve to help him understand himself, help him cope… He was a fucking moron for letting his Big ego get in the way. At least that was how he felt about it now. Back then, he’d been so desperate to escape, so anxious and terrified all the time… And for what? Over what? The other side of the coin? Kids were cared for, nurtured, loved—doted on. But they got punished, too, when they fucked things up. And all Richie ever did was fuck things up. 

Ever since he’d been an actual kid, that was all he’d done. He was a bad kid. He was always getting into stuff, always too loud, always too messy. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he had a bad childhood, but he’d had a lonely one. Sometimes he thought that might’ve been the reason for everything. He was so alone growing up, his parents not really having the time for him or the patience for his attention-seeking behavior. 

It wasn’t their fault. Times got hard and they needed money. His dad had to work and his mom did, too. He wanted for nothing when it came to material things. He had an Atari before any of his classmates did. He had the best bike on the streets—and when it got stolen, his dad bought him another one just like it not two days later. 

He’d been spanked, sure, for leaving his bike in the yard to get stolen instead of putting it where it belonged in the garage, but he still got another new bike. 

He was spoiled, he guessed. Always wanted more than what he already had. It was that way with his parents and he’d let it get that way with Steve. What he wanted was a fantasy—some world where he could fuck up and never have any consequences.

The only way for him to have that, though, was to be alone. And he _hated_ being on his own.

Richie found himself talking to the air, talking to a Momma or Poppa he didn’t have—pretending they answered only to end up feeling hatred for himself when he finally came down from the high. Tonight would be no different and Richie could already feel himself starting to tumble down. 

He felt sick with shame. 

Why was he like this? Why was he _still_ like this?

Richie felt the first hot tear roll down his cheek as one of his unsteady piles of books toppled over, taking his plastic racetrack and loop with it. He wished there was someone here to help him clean up… They didn’t have to do _everything._ He’d help, but the books felt so much heavier when he was like this. 

_It’s in your fucking head, you fucking moron..._ And it was. It was...but he couldn’t help it.

Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he stop when it made him so fucking miserable? 

It was like fucking heroin. He was always chasing his first high and he’d never get it that good again.

When Steve had opened up about that side of himself, the “Daddy Dom” side of himself, Richie had thought for sure he’d found the one. All of his shame was just swept under the rug for months and months. Years maybe… Richie didn’t keep track. It was all a blur. His career took off and his personal life was bliss. He would go through all the stress of a tour and come back to hotel rooms where Steve had ordered him kids’ meals and bought him new toys all the time. They’d play together and Steve would hold him and tell him all the great, wonderful things Richie had always wanted to hear. 

Maybe that was it… He’d been on tour most of their first years together. He was too tired to be bratty, and when he was Steve knew why. Steve knew he was exhausted and that he just needed to get it all out. 

It was when he wasn’t on tour and didn’t have that excuse that things went bad… And when they went bad, they went...really bad. Richie remembered being punished more than he remembered being played with. Toys he really liked were taken away from him indefinitely, he’d get the silent treatment but only when he was in his little space—never any time else. If he acted out or threw a tantrum for attention like he used to get on tour, he’d be spanked until he broke out of the headspace completely because it hurt so bad. It happened so much he started to be afraid when the urge would come. He’d feel the want to be little and it’d scare him so much he’d find himself starting to hyperventilate in the driver’s seat of his car or in the greenroom at a network building. He could go to that headspace, sure, but he was going to do something bad and bratty and get himself hurt for it, too. 

Steve always said he punished out of love, but it had stopped feeling that way. 

At this point, though, Richie was sorry he’d left. He’d take the pain of the abuse (if that was even what it was) over the agony of being alone. 

But he _wasn’t_ alone. Not completely. Right?

Richie’s phone gave a small chime and he found himself shuffling over to it without standing up from the floor. It was resting near another toppled pile of books—one that had fallen the last time he’d played and he never got around to setting back up. 

Eddie.

_SpagEDDIE: I saw something really cool today that made me think of you :-)_

Richie blinked at the screen a few times before another message popped up that showed a loading bar and then a picture of an old tin car, a red pick-up with chipped paint (probably lead-based) and metal wheels. It looked so cool and so fun. He had another toy car that was from around the same time and he thought about how fun it might be to put them on a ramp together and see which rolled the fastest.

Richie, not quite out of his little space and a bit too distracted by the car, blinked his watery eyes to clear them and typed a slow, clumsy, _Want!_ into his phone and hit Send.

Eddie would probably understand. They’d been texting each other almost non-stop since their last date. Their second date. It was better than the brunch. Richie got hot chocolate like he’d wanted and Eddie talked to him about model train sets while Richie talked about all his different cars and where he found them. They hugged goodbye that time and sometimes Richie could still smell Eddie’s cologne when he thought about him for too long.

_SpagEDDIE: Would you like to go out again on Saturday? :-) I have a couple surprises for you._

Eddie probably didn’t need another indicator that Richie wasn’t in his right mind, but Richie gave it to him anyway, sending a pathetic, _For me??_ back in response.

_SpagEDDIE: Yes for you!_

_I didn’t get you anything._

_SpagEDDIE: Hm… Are you feeling OK? This is usually where you say your presence is a gift._

Oh… He had said that, hadn’t he? When they met for hot chocolate and Eddie gave him a pack of gummy bears out of nowhere. “I didn’t get you anything! But I guess you’re probably happy with the gift of presence.” Or something like that… He’d winked and Eddie smiled at him. Richie ate the gummy bears the last time he played…

Richie must’ve taken too long to answer because his phone lit up with a call even though it was near the time Eddie usually went to bed. He panicked, not sure what to do or how to answer—he was still in his space, but half out of it, too. He was still bleary eyed and upset and shocked that Eddie was talking to him again.

He flailed his hands a few times and then answered the call and put it on speaker, covering his face as soon as he had as if that would somehow make it all better.

“Hello?” Eddie’s voice, cautious because Richie answered the call without speaking.

“Hello...” Keep a normal voice. Keep an even tone. Speak like an adult. Goddamnit why was he like this!?

“Hey! Everything okay? You sound like you’re getting a cold.”

“No. I was… I-I just… What’s up?” Richie cleared his throat, trying to fight through the haze in his brain—trying to swim back to the surface even though he was eighty-thousand leagues beneath the sea.

“Hm? Oh! I hope it’s alright that I called. I’m actually soaking in the bath. Epsom salts… It’s kind of boring to just sit here so I thought it’d be nice to call and chat. I hope that’s okay. Were you in the middle of something?”

“Me? No...” He was in the bath? Lately the idea of Eddie without clothes had been weighing heavily on his mind, and yet right now all he could think about were bath toys. 

He was a fucking fuck up of a human being…

“Is everything okay? It… It sounds like I caught you at a bad time. I should’ve asked before calling. Sorry…”

“No. I… I was…” Just say it. He said he was into that crap, so why bother hiding it? Why the fuck did he feel so ashamed and sick and conflicted? Eddie said he liked this stuff _too!_ “I was playing… I was playing with my cars.”

“Oh! Well, I hope I’m not interrupting.” In the background, Richie could hear water splashing. He had his phone on speaker, too. 

“No. I was getting ready to put things away. It’s all a...big mess.”

A very big mess. He needed to vacuum up all his crumbs and put his books away.

“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“Made a mess,” Richie repeated.

“That’s okay. That just means you had a good time. Right?” His voice came through sounding so supportive and warm. It was like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Richie felt some of the tension start to leave him. If Eddie said it wasn’t so bad, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

“I made...some ramps with my books and laid out the tracks for my cars. The loop was too big at first but it works better now… But only on the fast cars.”

“I see! Which ones the fastest? Is it your Ferrari?”

“No. It’s one of my old ones. It’s a little Corvette.” 

“Ooo. Is it a red one?” It didn’t sound forced. He actually sounded like he gave a shit. Richie almost couldn’t believe it.

“Mm-hmm. It’s a sixty-two.”

“It was made in sixty-two?” Eddie asked him.

“I don’t know… That’s just the model. It’s old. I’ve always had it.”

Eddie let him talk about his cars for a long time, then asked him if he needed help putting his things away. He did. He really, really did, but he knew Eddie couldn’t come help him. Deep down, though, he hoped he would which was probably why he said yes.

“Well, how about this? Did you want to meet up again on Saturday? If you can put some of the books away and make sure all your cars and all the pieces of the track are safe and out of the walkway, I can bring you your presents.”

“Pres _ents?”_ Richie asked. More than one?

It was foolish how excited that made him, and even more so that it worked. He found himself pushing his books toward the shelf where they belonged and scooting his plastic tracks into a pile next to the shelf.

“Yep!”

“You mean there’s more than one?”

“Mm-hmm. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah.” Richie could even think to care if he sounded dumb. He wanted presents. He wanted presents from Eddie—he wanted to know what the man got him aside from the car he’d already sent a picture of.

“Okay. If you’re ready to stop playing, put your toys away and send me a picture when you’re done so I know they’re safe. I don’t want you to step on one and break it or have you slip on a car and get hurt.” Eddie sounded so sincere. Richie didn’t even have to think twice in obeying him. He not only pushed his books over to the shelf, he put them on it where they went, then put his pieces of track into the plastic tote where they belonged. After that, he set to gathering up all his cars—even the one that had raced its way out into the hallway.

He probably would’ve forgotten about that one and stepped on it later just like Eddie said…

While he cleaned up, Eddie kept him company and talked to him—asked him about little things like what he had to eat and if he was going to be getting ready for sleep soon. No talk about work or responsibilities—just his toys and his blankets and when he planned to go down for sleep. 

Richie didn’t know why he said it, so he would later blame it on being little—on Eddie for tricking him into staying little during their phone call—but as he was getting ready for bed (after he’d sent his pictures of his cleaned up toy room and basked in the praise it earned him), Richie said, “I’d sleep better if you were here.”

“You would? Even if I snore?”

“Mm-hmm. I don’t sleep so good.”

“Why not? Are there monsters?”

“Bad monsters… Give me bad dreams. I don’t like bedtime...” He could feel how different his voice was as he said it. It was his little voice, something he had been trying so hard to hold back the whole call. 

“Uh oh… That’s not good. Do you want me to read you a story tonight? I have a couple you might like. Only if you’re ready for bed though.”

His heart soared just at the thought. A bedtime story? He hadn’t gotten an _actual_ story read to him in years! 

“I have to clean up my plate first. I’m—I’m going to clean up my plate real quick. Okay? And then story. Okay?”

“Okay, baby. There’s no rush. You tell me when you’re ready. Is the plate from your dino nuggets?”

“Mm-hmm!” Richie didn’t even think. He just took his plate downstairs to the kitchen trashcan and then went back up to his bedroom, turning off the lights as he went because he knew he should and he knew it’d make Eddie happy for him to do it. “I’m getting into bed now.”

“Is your alarm set for tomorrow?”

“Um...” Richie clicked through his phone and had to blink hard several times before he could focus enough to find the app and double check. In doing so, he remembered he needed to plug his phone into its charger since the long call had started to wear on the battery. So many Big thoughts before story time… “Okay. I’m all ready now.” 

And, for twenty minutes after that, Richie hadn’t a single thought in his head except Eddie’s voice coming through the phone. He didn’t think about Steve or how he shouldn’t want to be read a bedtime story at his age. He just thought about how nice Eddie’s voice sounded and how nice Eddie was for talking to him and making him feel safe and warm before bed. For twenty minutes, Richie was finally, fully little for the first time in almost four years—and he didn’t even notice it happening.

( ) ( ) ( )

Eddie felt like his dreams had come true. He knew he’d gotten in a little too deep when after his second date with Richie he stopped going on the forums all together. No one else could hold his interest. Richie was an all around fun guy to be around. He pushed Eddie’s buttons a lot and said some really off-color things, but he seemed genuinely nice and he was never rude to their servers or workers at the shops they went to. He didn’t care that Eddie was divorced or that his experience dating men was null. He was open-minded and friendly about all of it (even though his way of “making sure” Eddie was okay with being gay was to point blank ask him if he was ready to put his fingers up another man’s butt). 

When it came to a life partner, he met all of Eddie’s basic requirements—employed, similar age, down-to-earth, minimal criminal history. (There was a college-age DUI in there and a couple drunken disorderly charges that got thrown out, but Eddie had his fair share of parking tickets and one instance of nearly being arrested following a road rage incident where neither he nor the other party wanted to back down. No one was perfect.) They agreed on politics which was important even though neither of them were really interested in discussing it. They both liked crime shows though Richie favored scripted TV while Eddie enjoyed documentaries. He was a well-rounded man. Intelligent even though he liked to pretend otherwise, sophisticated where Eddie appreciated it, too. (He always recognized the nice accessories Eddie had without him having to point them out himself or be too flashy. His nice watch for starters.) He didn’t seem to care one way or another about Eddie’s dietary restrictions, except he made a point to avoid anything with nuts in it after Eddie mentioned he was allergic. It was nice not to be teased about his restrictions for once, and it surprised him that Richie hadn’t made it into a joke at all considering his sense of humor. 

All of that translated into Richie being boyfriend material. 

And then, after story time that one night on the phone, he became _perfect_ little material. He’d sounded so sleepy and so cute. Eddie could just imagine how he must’ve looked all snuggled up with his blankets in bed. He’d been such a good little for him, too. And it came so natural. Richie put his toys away for him and cleaned up his plate all by himself, all while staying so perfectly little. Far too little to be on his own… That was for sure. All Eddie wanted in the world was to be there next to him, but he knew it was too soon for that just yet. 

They’d get there. At least he hoped. He hoped that he met _any_ of Richie’s standards. He hoped he was even half as good of a caregiver as Richie was a little. He didn’t have much experience, but he’d try his best. He bought story books and coloring books and a ton of very cute socks already. He really hoped they wouldn’t go to waste.

He also hoped it didn’t look like he was trying to buy Richie’s affection either. Eddie was a naturally generous person and he didn’t do it to make himself look better or to show off his income. When he saw something he knew one of his friends would like, he bought it for them. Richie liked those toy cars at the antique shop and Eddie knew he’d love the old red truck he’d found when he went in to buy those two little cars Richie had been peeping. Eddie picked up his lamp and bought all three, then set about finding the perfect box and paper to wrap them in. (He set the red truck Richie already knew about inside the plain paper bag on top of the little box now wrapped in colorful car-patterned paper so it’d be the first thing he saw when he looked inside.)

Right before he left to go meet Richie at the breakfast restaurant they’d decided on, he set two pairs of socks into the bag as well and hustled out to his car. They were going to visit the zoo together after they ate, then Eddie hoped he could get Richie to join him at dinner. Really, he wanted to take him back to his home and spend quality time with him alone. It didn’t need to be anything physical, but Eddie understood very well that Richie had a reason to be physically deflective in the public eye. They couldn’t really do more than exaggerated (on Richie’s part) bro hugs as they said their goodbyes. Eddie was nervous about it, too, but he kind of liked the idea of them holding hands. Maybe not in the most public of places, but on top of the table at restaurants or in intimate settings like that…

Maybe he was getting too far ahead of himself… Or maybe he was just looking for outs.

Eddie would like to sit with Richie alone and talk about it if he could—somewhere no one would overhear. Somewhere they could be themselves. He was nervous it might be too soon, but he’d let Richie make that call. He’d let Richie decide if he wanted to go straight home after the zoo or after dinner and it’d be perfectly fine either way. 

Even so, he had butterflies in his stomach his whole drive to the restaurant—and those only grew worse when he came to find Richie leaning against the hood of a red Mustang in the public parking lot. Sunglasses on, ball cap on his head, but Richie Tozier none the less. 

“You beat me here!” Eddie said, walking up to him after he’d parked a few spaces away.

“Had to. Traffic’s a bitch. I left early.”

“I didn’t know you were going to drive. I would’ve left sooner.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t waiting long. Sun’s out. It’s nice today.” He smiled, but it was hard to tell if he was actually happy with the dark lenses over his eyes. 

“It’s still a little cold. I hope the zoo’s not too packed.”

“It’ll be fine. If I have to punt someone’s rugrats out of my way to see the chimps, I’ll do it.” He laughed at his own joke and straightened up from his car. “You like her? Not quite a Ferrari but she gets me from A to B.”

“Nice! She’s nice! New?”

“Brand. Bought her right off the showroom floor.”

“From here in New York?”

“Yeah… I thought about road tripping from LA to here, but...no. I’m half blind. Driving that long is just an accident waiting to happen.”

“Yeah… Well, it’s good to keep the miles low,” Eddie said, shrugging his shoulders. Richie looked so nice today in a more subtle shirt than he usually wore. It still looked suspiciously like a Hawaiian, but it was a deep green with tiny blue x’s on it that you almost had to squint to see. He also had on his dark leather jacket to keep out the chill, then dark jeans and plain black sneakers. Eddie, too, had dressed for the day. Jeans, tennis shoes, a t-shirt and a hoodie with a spare coat in the car in case it got too cold. He hoped Richie didn’t mind that he’d dressed down. Hopefully he still looked good without the sports jackets or fancy watches.

“Honestly, Eds, I think I put more miles on this car _sitting_ in traffic than actually driving in it. Shit’s crazy up here. Hate it. How do you live in a place like this?”

“I’m used to it, I guess,” Eddie said, shrugging. “Ready?”

“Yes. Starving! But where’s my present? I was promised gifts.”

“I’ll give them to you on the way to the zoo. What, were you going to play with your cars on the table? You’d get syrup on them.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Richie said, but it still sounded playful as they made the short walk up the street to the restaurant. “Hope you don’t mind the hat hair. I saw it was gonna be sunny and I have a thing I’m filming Monday night. If I’m a goddamned lobster, makeup is gonna kill me.”

“I uh...actually have a bottle of sunscreen in my car if you need extra.”

“Extra? You think I put _any_ on? Wow. You’ve got more faith in me than I deserve.”

“If you don’t want to _burn,_ you need sunscreen...”

“Oh! Is that how it works?” Richie asked, smiling at him without a care in the world. Eddie would be slathering him with sunscreen the minute they got out of this restaurant. 

Already, Eddie could see what sort of day they were gearing up to have. As soon as they were seated and had been served cups of water and then coffee (tea for Eddie), Richie had taken the paper-wrapped straw he’d been given for his water and stared pushing the paper on both ends down toward the middle so that the straw was poking out both sides with the accordioned white paper sleeve bunched up in the middle as compact as it could get. 

“You’re going to get germs on your straw and then you’re going to put in your mouth...” Eddie said, unable to tear his eyes away from the expose ends of the straw where they dipped close to the table that was probably clean but not nearly enough for Eddie’s satisfaction. 

“No… Look. It’s a worm. Watch!” He pulled the scrunched up wrapper off the straw and set it on the table, then proceeded to dunk his straw into his water and place his thumb over the opening on it’s top to trap the water inside. Then he set to letting tiny drop after tiny of water fall onto the paper, making the wrapper twist and expand until it was a soggy mess that was three times larger than it had been a moment before.

“Very impressive,” Eddie said, chuckling as he instinctively reached for a napkin to mop up the soggy wrapper and the water on the table before their server saw it and could complain. 

“You don’t think it’s cool?”

“It’s very cool. And very messy. What are you thinking for food?” Eddie asked, looking over the menu again while Richie smiled at him over the mess he’d made. His voice was still his completely normal tone, and Eddie couldn’t quite place whether or not Richie was acting little for if he was just amusing himself in a way he typically did.

“Pancakes. What about you? They have food you can eat here, right? I didn’t pick a dud?”

“They have lots of things I can have.” Not a ton of options, but enough. Eddie settled on a safe choice of bacon and breakfast potatoes with veggies. Richie got blueberry pancakes with whipped cream and powdered sugar on top—because he needed more sugar to go with the syrup he was going to pour all over them. 

Richie talked about work while he ate, discussing the show he was going to be on that he was filming Monday night. Eddie nodded along and deflected it any time Richie asked him about work. His job was boring compared to being on TV. He looked at spreadsheets all day and sent angry IMs to his team. 

After their breakfast, they made their way back to the parking lot where Richie double checked the rate for extended parking and then walked with Eddie to his car. He was excited about his presents, and already grappling for the bag where it was tucked under the dashboard on the passenger side as soon as he saw it.

“I hope it’s not too much. I just kept seeing all these little things that made me think of you,” Eddie said, before realizing how that sounded and adding on, “Small things. Just small things that made me think of you.”

Richie, for what it was worth, didn’t seem to hear what he’d said or his correction. He was crinkling the bag and pulling the contents out onto his lap. 

“These socks are fun! Oh, my truck! It’s so cool! Look how _old_ it is!” He was turning the chipped red truck this way and that in his left hand while his right held onto his two pairs of socks. Trains on one pair, dinosaurs on the other. 

“There’s more in there,” Eddie said, trying not to smile like a moron as Richie took out the small box.

“Oh, this is cute! Look at the paper!” Apparently, the paper deserved his regular glasses instead of his sunglasses to be appreciated fully, so Richie swapped them out and beamed at the colorful cartoon cars on the wrapping paper. 

“You like that?”

“Yes, I like that!” He kept making these happy exclamations as he tore the paper to shreds to get at the box underneath. Once it was opened, he froze though, staring down at the cars inside. 

“Do you like ‘em? They’re the ones from the shop.”

“You remembered these?”

“Well, yeah. It wasn’t that long ago.”

“Yeah, but you’re _old.”_ He said it more as a deflection than anything, his attention on one of the cars as he lifted it out of the box to stare at it in wonder. They were just small, toy cars. There was nothing all that special about them except Richie lit up when he looked at them that day. Their first date. First of many, Eddie hoped. 

“Ready for the zoo?” Eddie asked while Richie was still staring in wonder at the cars.

“Yeah...”

“Then fasten your seat belt.”

“Is it gonna be a bumpy ride?” Richie asked, looking to him with a smirk.

“I hope not. I just got new tires last month,” Eddie answered, looking away because there was something in Richie’s eyes that got to him in a way he didn’t expect. Was that an innuendo? An invitation? Eddie didn’t know but it caught him off guard for sure!

“Well, you’re no fun.”

“I just bought you three new cars and I’m no fun?” Eddie asked.

“No one’s bought me cars in a really long time,” Richie said, placing the small ones back in their box and holding up the large red truck again. 

For that moment, he was the slightest bit little and Eddie loved every last thing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I get their combined sassiness right? As cute as they are when in their respective headspaces, these two are wonderfully happy with pushing each other's buttons. (Okay, Richie does the button pushing. Let's get real here.) Let me know what you think! More should be up soon! I've been on a weird roll with this story and I hardly think of anything else. How WEIRD.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight trigger warning for this chapter as Richie opens up a little more about his relationship with his last Daddy. Nothing explicit, but very much an abuse of power by a Daddy of his little and an intentional ignoring of boundaries in a very physical/emotional/sexual way. Before it gets too heavy, though, we have a nice, sweet Eddie to help him out! Definitely owning the _hurt_ of the Hurt/Comfort here.

Richie couldn’t hide the fact that he was nervous about going to Eddie’s house after dinner that evening, but their trip to the zoo had been so wonderful and fun that he had no excuse for saying no. Eddie stuck to his word and slathered Richie in sunscreen before he even let him out of the car at the zoo, and he was the most patient man Richie had ever met the whole time they looked around. Eddie didn’t complain about long lines or long waits or crowds around different exhibits. 

Every now and then Richie could see a crack in the mask—especially if someone dared invade Eddie’s bubble—but he kept his cool and always smiled when he caught Richie looking at him...which was a lot. Eddie was nice to look at. Richie made sure to tell him so, too, with a casual shrug like it was no big deal.

Because it was no big deal. 

At the gift shop, Eddie bought him an overpriced stuffed Toucan which Richie carried around under one arm the rest of their afternoon. He got a way overpriced pretzel, a way overpriced hotdog, a way overpriced lemonade with so much sugar that his slurps of it were crunchy, and ended things with a way overpriced funnel cake and Eddie never said one thing about it. Not about the lines, not the fact that Richie was a bottomless pit, not the fact that he would say he didn’t want anything else and then abruptly change his mind two exhibits later. 

Yeah, a lot of that was a test, but Eddie passed with flying colors. 

He had the patience of a saint, and you really needed that to be able to put up with Richie (Big or little).

They ate dinner at pretty casual steakhouse and that was when Eddie asked if Richie wanted to come over to his house afterward. Richie being Richie, had to ask the obvious question:

“What, like, for sex?”

Eddie had choked on his sip of water and coughed like he’d started to drown.

“What!?”

“I asked if you were propositioning me for sex. If you are, I’ve gotta warn you, my ass crack is really sweaty from all that walking around. You might want to reconsider.”

“I just wanted to sit together and talk!” Eddie exclaimed, still trying to catch his breath. A moment later, he had an inhaler in hand and took a deep breath from it and slowly started to calm down. 

“Shit, you have asthma?”

“Yes. I have asthma.”

“And you choose to live in _New York?”_

“Well, there’s not a lot of insurance jobs in the country and pollen is worse than smog.”

“I think they’re both pretty bad if your lungs aren’t good.”

“My lungs are fine. It’s my bronchial tubes that suck. Anyway...did you want to come over or not? No pressure either way. I thought it’d be nice to just relax and watch a movie or something.”

“That sounds kinda nice. Sure. I’ll come over for some Netflix and chill.” Richie almost made another comment about his ass, but their server came by and he decided against it. More time with Eddie sounded like a great plan for him—it was definitely better than sitting at home all alone by himself again, trying not to be little after being showered in toys and snacks all day.

He picked up his car from the parking lot where he’d left it for breakfast, paid the outrageous price, and then followed Eddie back to his rather impressive Staten Island house. It was by no means a mansion, but there was a good deal of space between his house and his neighbor’s and that said a whole awful lot in a place like New York.

Eddie showed him inside and offered him water, then tea, then soda, then juice. Richie couldn’t say no to the juice. Sugar water with fruit flavoring. His favorite besides Kool-Aid. Eddie pointed out where the bathroom was and then directed him to the living room where he had a rather impressive TV over a rather impressive fireplace. 

He put on a crime documentary for background noise, almost as if to ensure Richie wouldn’t get caught up in watching it, then started asking him about his favorite parts of the zoo. Eddie liked the big cats. Richie liked the chimps and the reptiles—but not the snakes. They creeped him out.

Richie kept waiting for the advances to come—a hand on his leg, maybe, or a lean in for a kiss—but they never did. Eddie just kept looking at him and smiling at him until it was Richie who started to think he might need to make the first move. He wasn’t so sure it was a good idea, but he found himself wanting to.

What could it hurt if he did? He’d opened himself up on that forum in hopes of finding a partner who might understand the most unsavory parts of himself and Eddie fit the bill. Eddie was a lot better than any of the other people Richie was talking to from there. There was a woman on Long Island who was very interested in meeting him and seemed okay, but when it came down to it, Richie preferred men. She had more experience than Eddie and maternal instincts, but…

Richie couldn’t put his finger on it, but Eddie was just better than all the others. Eddie didn’t ask him for naked photographs or try getting him drunk. Eddie, it seemed, didn’t really drink more than water and tea. He’d bought soda and juice for Richie specifically and that gesture in and of itself was very sweet…

Eddie was very sweet. 

If not for the haughty attitude he sometimes showed when they were out and about together, Richie might’ve even got to thinking Eddie was too nice for a man like him. 

Still, no matter how attentive Eddie seemed or how kind or how generous or thoughtful, it just left Richie feeling even more conflicted. He liked the attention. Richie loved any kind of attention he could get—always had, since he was a _real_ little boy. Even a harsh punishment from his father was better than his cold shoulder. Getting cracked with his mother’s hairbrush was a fuckton better than her silent treatment. That was probably why he let things go with Steve the way he had…

Suffering with a partner—suffering _because_ of a partner—was still better than suffering all alone in a big empty house.

And that loneliness was becoming suffocating…

But the guilt for trying to drag Eddie blindly down into his mess was worse. He wasn’t a whole man. He wasn’t a _good_ man. Richie was a mess, laden with baggage and bad habits that ranged far beyond not wanting to clean up his toys when he was small. He’d tried to be clear about that in his post, the same post that caught Eddie’s attention, and if anything all it had done was make more people want to come “fix him.”

They couldn’t… It wasn’t their job to fix him. Honestly, Eddie’s biggest appeal to Richie (aside from his perfect fuckin’ body and cute face) was the fact that he was divorced and not shy about it. Things didn’t work out. Who he was and who his wife were didn’t mesh, despite all their years together. Eddie understood. At least, Richie hoped he would… Things with his wife didn’t sound nearly as volatile as life with Steve.

“So… Richie, can I ask you something?” Eddie said as their meaningless conversation about how awful LAX was as a whole came to an end. 

“Hm? Sure.” Richie had one of his new toy cars in hand and was thoughtlessly spinning the front wheels with his fingers. It helped his anxiety a little to have something to fidget with. The dawn of fidget spinners and fidget cubes had been great for him and he kind of wished he had one now—out of fear he’d break his new car on accident if he got too worked up.

Whatever Eddie had to ask, it wasn’t about to be casual. 

It was going to be a proposition, but for what Richie didn’t know. He didn’t _want_ to know. He hoped it was just for something small, like a kiss, but had a feeling he wanted more. The seriousness on his face screamed that he wanted to talk about something more than swapping spit.

“So… Well, I really hope I’m not being too forward here. Uh… I guess I’m out of touch with the modern dating scene—”

“Are you tellin’ me you have a three date rule? Because my ass is still pretty swampy from the zoo. Not gonna lie. You can tap it if you want to, but it’s gonna be gross.”

Every bit of what he said had Eddie looking baffled and horrified, and seeing him caught off guard made Richie feel a little bit better, a little bit more in control.

“What!? No! Ew! I’m not being _that_ forward! I haven’t even kissed you yet! No! No, I didn’t bring you here for _that!”_

Richie chuckled at him while Eddie’s face displayed an array of shock and disgust. It was good to know that kissing was on his mind, too, and how they’d yet to try it.

“What I was going to ask was if you’d thought about us being exclusive. If—If you thought this was going anywhere. If you had any _concerns._ Not if you wanted to hook up!” He still sounded so grossed out over the swamp ass comment and Richie couldn’t stop laughing at him. Poor dude was probably having full visions of sweaty, hairy ass cracks if not physical sensations playing out in his head of what that’d feel like to grind his dick against. “I’m not exactly into the hook up culture. I… I haven’t much experience with dating so I...I thought it’d be best to just be straight forward—”

“I’d rather you be _gay_ forward, but—”

“I’m starting to take your deflection as a no you’re not interested,” Eddie said, not even giving Richie the chance to finish his joke and already turning away from him. _Scooting_ away from him on the couch.

“Deflection? Have you met me? I can’t _not_ make things a joke. I was just messing around.”

Eddie still didn’t look too satisfied with that answer and was starting to look shot down. Did he think Richie was laughing at him? Laughing at his interest? At his thought that he was someone Richie could be interested in? 

He wasn’t. If anything, Eddie should be the one laughing at him thinking he was good enough for someone. He was hiding all the worst parts of himself whenever they went out. He was hiding most of himself if he was being honest. Eddie hardly knew him at all and yet there he was asking to be official like they were kids in high school and not grown men.

“I know with your work and everything, it’s probably difficult to...to want to settle on anyone or let someone you just met in that close. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t ever try to blackmail you or sell secrets about you to the press or anything. I told you before, I wouldn’t like that kind of stress. That’s...that’s just not who I am.”

“I mean, I’m kind of a washed-up has been. There’s not much paparazzi for you to sell my secrets to,” Richie said, before he could stop himself. “I’m not worried about you leaking pics of me or anything. I just...” Sucked. He sucked. 

He could hear Steve in the back of his mind spouting off reasons why he wasn’t compatible with anyone else, why he was lucky to have found Steve who was willing to cope with all of his shortcomings. And that was back before he had all the baggage he did now. Eddie was new to all this. He was new to men, he was new to littles, he was new to all of it… He deserved someone better. 

It hurt. 

It hurt knowing he could never measure up. It hurt knowing that he wanted to be excited and to say yes, but that doing so would just make Eddie’s life worse. Eddie had his hopes up that Richie was some great boyfriend, some great little he could care for… 

Richie was fucking shit. He was shit. He was a shit partner who had very little besides immaturity and cash to bring to the table—and eventually his cash would run out.

“It’s—It’s too soon. It’s too soon. Can we forget I said all that? I’m sorry. Richie, I’m sorry. I told you, I’m not good at modern dating. I don’t have any fucking idea what I’m doing.” He scooted away again, another subtle inch or two, and it twisted the knife in Richie’s chest.

“Eddie, no. No, it’s not that. I… Here’s the thing...” 

The thing? It was more like a laundry list of _things._ Flaws. 

Richie didn’t want to spill his guts, but he didn’t want to get up and walk out on this either. He liked Eddie. He did… He liked spending time with him, he liked the emails they exchanged that said different things than their text conversations did. He didn’t want to let this go. 

He _wanted_ to try again. He _wanted_ to give Eddie a chance, to give himself another chance to be someone’s partner—someone’s little if they were up for it. 

He wanted to try…

“Eddie, I...I haven’t been completely open with you about a lot of things. Part of that’s because we just started hanging out and it’s been moving kind of fast—”

“I can slow it down,” Eddie said, so quickly that it was cute and it made Richie laugh even though his heart still ached. 

“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m trying to say that I’ve…I’ve _enjoyed_ that, you know? I feel like it’s not _forced_ between us. You’re not acting like you’re _trying_ to like hanging out with me for one reason or another, you just _do._ And that feels awesome. I mean, I like spending time with you, too. I love it. Really.” And he did...and he didn’t deserve to have it. 

He didn’t deserve to have someone like Eddie. That knife in his chest punctured just a little bit deeper. 

He had to let him go. He couldn’t _do this_ to him. There were so many other people out there for Eddie. 

“I just… I really feel like you need to know what you’re getting yourself into before you get in too deep.” Richie forced himself to set the car he was fidgeting with down onto the coffee table, feeling unworthy of holding even something small like that. 

“What do you mean? Do you have AIDS or something? That’s—That’s kind of something I need to know. Oh, my God, do you have AIDS?”

“What? No! No, I don’t have fucking AIDS! What’s the matter with you!?” Richie was caught so off guard by it that once the initial shock and offense had passed, he couldn’t help himself but to laugh at how pale Eddie had gone—how afraid he looked. 

“It’s not funny!”

“It _is_ funny! Oh, my God! That’s kind of a thing you’re up front with if you have it in the gay scene. Shit, you see it in dating profiles. HIV positive, right there in the headline.”

“Well, I’m sure not everyone is that open! You hear about people who pass it to other people on purpose—”

“Well, I’m not one of those people. I’ve been with, like, five dudes. All with condoms, even Steve! And all my drug use was oral or nasal—nothing going in my veins. I did try boofting once. Wasn’t for me.”

“What the _fuck_ is _boofting!?”_ Eddie asked, irritated like that actually mattered. It was a total joke and lie and it just made Richie laugh that much harder at him—like he needed more reasons to mourn for this all coming to an end. 

Eddie was so much fun to torment. He didn’t want to let this go… But he couldn’t lie.

“It’s where you stick tampons soaked in vodka up your ass. It doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, no, I don’t have AIDS. No, I don’t have the clap or herpes or any of that shit. I even have papers to say so. I act like a fucking moron, but I like to make sure my dick doesn’t fall off. Kind of need that. I get tested between partners. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes, it does,” Eddie said, still looking annoyed. His annoyed face was so much cuter than Steve’s… That was a bad thing, he reminded himself. If he looked cute when he was annoyed, Richie was only going to be tempted to push his buttons more and more and he’d end up right back where he was—with a caregiver or Daddy Dom who beat the shit out of him to make him stop, ‘cause that was the only way to make him stop.

He was lonely as hell and he felt like his heart was about to burst into pieces every day, but it wasn’t worth it to go through what he went through with Steve all over again. It was better to just sit at home by himself and play with his toys, talking to no one except the imaginary friends in his head.

It was for the best… And doing what was best hurt sometimes.

“I… I haven’t been open with you about what happened with...with Steve. My ex,” Richie said, as if Eddie didn’t already know.

“Okay…” Eddie scooted a little closer, leaning in to show that he was interested—that he was listening. 

Richie took a deep breath and tried to think of the best way to go about it. He needed more time to get over it? No… It wasn’t Eddie, it was him? No… He could take the high road and just admit he was scared, but that was never gonna fuckin’ happen.

“It ended bad. Me and Steve, it ended bad. I know I mentioned it on the forum, but I haven’t really been open about what went on or why...why it all ended. I think… I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever actually said out loud what all happened. Sometimes I don’t think I even remember what really happened. Sometimes I was little and sometimes I was Big and...it gets confusing. It’s all the same memory, but how I process it, I guess? How I process what happened is different sometimes depending on—”

“On if you’re little when you were hurt?” Eddie offered, voice so warm and gentle. Like he knew… Like he just understood even though he’d never cared for a little of his own. He was just booksmart on the subject or...or maybe just a natural.

“Something like that, yeah. Steve had this...this way of getting in my head. Gaslighting, they say. He’d do something, I’d ask him later why, he’d say, ‘oh, because you did xyz. Why do you think?’ Or, fuck! Sometimes, he’d just say it didn’t happen and I’d confused like… Like, what is he talking about? It _did_ happen! Or… Or maybe I just remembered it all wrong.”

“That’s textbook gaslighting. He was gaslighting you, making you doubt yourself. He was an asshole,” Eddie said.

“You don’t have to say that just because you like me. You don’t know the guy.” 

“Okay, but that’s still gaslighting.”

“Okay, whatever, but the point is...it wasn’t always like that. Sometimes, he’d be great and then I’d do something and he’d be _not so great._ I mean, there’s different tiers to all of this. Like, the scene, I mean. There’s different layers. You get Dominants and littles, and...and _caregivers_ and littles and it’s all completely different. There’s a gray area in between and...” He was almost out of breath and he didn’t know why. Was he talking fast? He was probably talking fast. He probably made no sense… 

“It’s whatever you want it to be. It’s whatever you make it—you and your partner, your little or whoever. It’s whatever you guys agree on. I’m… I mean, I’m more of a straight up caregiver myself. I think. I could lay down the law if I had to, but I’d rather just be a provider. A nurturer. I just like feeling like I’m being useful—like I can be comforting when someone needs or… Or just someone somebody needs, not someone somebody needs to look after.” Eddie looked down at his lap, eyes a little heavy like something else was weighing on him.

Maybe Richie wasn’t the only one with baggage. 

“Right… So—So you and Steve, you’re like completely different ends of the spectrum. He was a Dom, through and through. And I said I was okay with that, and I was...not.”

It was all his fault it was over. And it was all his fault that he and Eddie weren’t probably going to be seeing each other after tonight. He wished his apple juice were wine. He wished he could just get wasted and disappear. 

He wished more than anything he could just go home and be small, so small that things like this were too big for him to comprehend and all he could think to do was play with his imaginary friends. 

He wished…

( ) ( ) ( )

He’d been abused. Eddie wanted to just grab Richie and shake him until he admitted that he’d been abused, but that wouldn’t be helpful. Richie was stammering out these sad, painful explanations for why he and Steve hadn’t worked out and why it’d been so hard for him to move on. It was like he’d forgotten his own words that he’d made in his post on the forum—or what he’d texted Eddie. That Steve was a sadistic fuck. That Steve was a monster who took advantage. 

Right now, Richie was siding with Steve as though he were defending him. As though he himself had been in the wrong on everything. 

To Eddie (who admittedly knew more from reading than he did real life experience) it sounded like Steve had groomed him. It sounded like Steve groomed Richie and then groomed Richie’s little self as well. Steve showed him an outlet for the urges Richie had been hiding, nurtured them, and then started twisting them around until he could make Richie do what he wanted—or submit to whatever he wanted. 

From the sounds of it, Richie didn’t like doing sexual things when he was little. He wanted to play with his toys or color or have story time. He didn’t like that story time ended with hands in his underwear or his head being pulled toward Steve’s crotch. It was always jarring for him, he explained. He was happily listening to stories one minute, and then next was being coaxed into sex. 

Sometimes, if he was too little when it happened, he said no and threw small tantrums to make Steve stop. 

That was when Eddie’s stomach started getting sick. 

It sounded like rape. It sounded like Richie—the adult side of him who wanted to do those things or knew how to consent to do those things—had checked out. He wasn’t all there when it happened. Yes, he was physically larger than Steve and definitely not a little boy by any means _physically,_ but he’d regressed. It was a gray area and Steve had clearly used that phrase again and again to drive home to Richie that if he wanted to actually make things stop, he would have. He was a grown man in a big body and he could’ve made Steve stop if he wanted him to. And he didn’t… 

Richie wouldn’t look at him while he talked and spilled his secrets. He stared at the cars he’d set on the coffee table or at the Toucan plush he had pulled into his hands and was squeezing. 

“If I told him I wanted to stop doing it because I didn’t like it, he would just bring up times I did. Like, ‘Well, you weren’t complaining last week when I got you off twice in a row,’ or just shit like that… And I dealt with it because I loved him. I did. I loved him… I wanted to make him happy because he was...he was my Daddy and I wanted to be the reason he was happy.” He looked close to tears and Eddie scooted just a little closer to him in order to put an arm around his shoulders—hoping it was comforting even though Richie flinched at first. “And then he started getting angry all the time. I’m a fucking brat when I’m little. I know that’s probably not hard to figure out. I _don’t_ listen. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I just don’t listen. Steve did everything he could to break the habit and...I just didn’t listen. Too fucking stupid to learn anything, I guess.” He stopped pulling at the Toucan in order to rub at his face, his fingers going under the lenses of his glasses to scrub at his eyes. “It got so bad I was afraid to be little. I still am most the time and he’s not even with me.”

“Why were you afraid? Because he was...he was hurting you?”

“Because I was so fucking bad all the time it just ended in me getting in trouble. I don’t even know why… Why couldn’t I just fucking listen? ‘Stop making so much noise. Stop leaving toys everywhere. Stop saying bad words. Put your toys away.’ I just…. _Never listened._ I’d still have sores from the last spanking and act up the next night. You’d think I couldn’t fucking sleep unless I was bawling my eyes out.”

He was fucking abused and he didn’t fucking see it. It made Eddie’s heart hurt so much for him. He’d done what any normal little would do and he was punished severely for it—punished like he was Big when he’d done it and not little and innocent. 

“You know, the sick part of it is...the more he hurt me, the more I was little. Like...I wanted it to happen. I was walking on eggshells the last...two years maybe? Last two years I was with him? And I still was little around him, acting up and getting in trouble.”

“What made you leave?” Eddie asked, rubbing Richie’s back in slow, heavy circles. 

Richie was quiet a moment, back to tugging on his poor Toucan. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it… I know it must be exhausting reliving all that. Sweetheart, I couldn’t imagine going through even half of that. It breaks my heart just hearing it.”

“But that’s just it. There’s nothing heartbreaking about it—I was bad, I got punished. I was just too fucking stupid to see the pattern and change my behavior. Don’t listen? Get the belt again. Still won’t listen? Guess we’re getting it again. Like, why the fuck didn’t I just _listen to the man!?_ I knew what he wanted!”

“Yeah, to _hurt_ you. He _wanted_ to be hurting you. Littles don’t always listen. Littles don’t always use their inside voices or pick up their toys when you ask! It’s part of the—the whole thing!”

“Not for Doms...” He said it so bluntly. He _believed_ everything Steve said to him. “I knew what he was. I should’ve left before it got that bad.”

“He knew what you were,” Eddie said, defiant in the face of Richie’s resignation. “He could tell you weren’t a submissive little, that you weren’t into the sex games! He _knew!_ Richie, he _knew,_ and he was getting off on the fact that he could hurt you and you wouldn’t fight back. He was a fucking sadistic fuck just like you told me. And _you_ didn’t deserve it.”

Finally, after maybe close to an hour, Richie looked at him.

“You didn’t deserve it, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, softening his voice and moving to squeeze Richie’s shoulder instead of rubbing his back. “I understand now a little more about why you’re scared. I’ll never know how that felt for you, but I can promise I would _never_ put you through anything like that again. I-I _like_ cleaning up messes and I think your bratty side is actually really cute. I’m not really a _dominant_ person, I just...want to take care of someone. I want to be counted on by someone. I’d love to pick up all your toys so you don’t always have to. I’d love to read you stories and just cuddle up and go to sleep afterwards. I-I definitely don’t think I could ever really see myself hitting you. Big or small. I don’t… I don’t think I’d be a very good disciplinarian, if we’re being honest.”

That was one of his reservations about himself in this whole thing, too. Littles needed structure and consequences, but did he really have to be the bad cop sometimes? Couldn’t he just bribe his little with snacks to make them behave?

Slowly, Richie moved his left hand off of the Toucan and let it come to rest on Eddie’s knee—leaving it there for Eddie to place his over top of it until their fingers slowly laced and they were holding hands. 

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into with me. On the outside, I’m this big, goofy, happy dude… And inside I feel like I’m fucking dead. I feel like I’ve been ripped apart and I’m just...flesh hanging off bones, bleeding everywhere. I wake up every morning feeling like I’m having a heart attack because my nightmares are so fucking bad. I mean that! Every night… Called the hospital the first time it happened. Thought I was actually having a heart attack. Turns out I’m just fucked in the head.”

Eddie gave his hand a firm squeeze and shook his head. “If that doesn’t prove that you were mistreated by him, then I don’t know what will.” Richie wanted to believe that he was somehow at fault for everything because that was what Steve had always told him. Eddie knew that wasn’t true. “I don’t want you to ever have to feel like that, Richie. I don’t. I’ve never been through anything like that, but I know how it feels to have someone toy with your head and make you feel guilty for things that aren’t your fault. I know it’s not the same, but my mom was messed up after my dad died and she would accuse me of _abandoning her_ if I went outside to play. When I was a kid, I thought she had every right to feel like that. Now I know she was just sick from grief and took it out on me.”

“Yeah, Steve was sick with somethin’,” Richie said, sniffing and pulling his hand away. “Do you have alcohol in this place? I need a drink.”

“Are you gonna okay to drive if you have a drink?” Eddie asked, without really thinking.

“Oh. Makes sense I’m gettin’ the boot. I’ve way overstayed my welcome.” He cleared his throat and shook his head, regaining his composure while Eddie slowly lost his.

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that! I just—I thought maybe you wanted...to go. _I_ don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here. I think I have some wine...somewhere. Let me go check. I’ll go check, okay?” He thought he had a bottle he’d gotten from work if he didn’t throw it away. He didn’t drink. Myra did a little bit, but Eddie had never gotten into it himself. Maybe after all that, now was a good time to try it out again, though.

“Well, while you’re doing that, I’m gonna go piss.”

He took quite a while in the bathroom, mostly blowing his nose and running water in the sink—maybe splashing some on his face to calm himself down or get the puffiness to go away. He hadn’t exactly wept as he told his stories, but his eyes were swollen just the same from blinking the tears back for so long.

Eddie did find the wine after some digging and checked the bottle for an expiration date which didn’t exist. He hoped it was safe, not really sure how long he’d had it, then imagined it had to be since there was a whole expression about good looking people aging like fine wine.

He poured a couple of glasses, then carried them to the coffee table where he set them on his nice coasters, then he went back to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle to bring it out as well. 

Should he have waited for Richie before pouring the drinks? That way he’d know they weren’t drugged? Shit. He really was awful at this whole thing…

Richie didn’t seem to notice, though. He came out, grabbed up the glass near his toy cars, and took a huge drink. 

“Shit! This is the strong kind.”

“Oh! I can put the bottle away then,” Eddie said, trying to think fast of a way he could save what was left for later instead of pouring it all down the sink. He didn’t have bottle stoppers… Would a Tupperware bowl be okay? Or maybe one of his coffee thermoses for work?

“Do _not_ put that away. Richie needs a drinkie.” He grabbed the bottle then and topped off what he’d just drank. “Can I crash on your sofa tonight? I’m fucking exhausted and I don’t want to drive.”

“You… My sofa? Yeah. I have a guestroom, too.”

“Cool.” 

He wanted to offer his bedroom but that felt too much like an invitation for something else…

He had storybooks though. After Richie had his drinks and calmed down, Eddie could show him his options for sleeping places and ask if he wanted read a book. Maybe he could say it casually, like, ‘If you don’t mind sharing, I could read to you in here and we could both just go to sleep when it’s done.’ It didn’t have to be in Eddie’s bedroom. He could share the guest bed with him as well. 

“So… Ready to run yet?”

“Run?” Eddie asked. “What, from you?”

“Mm-hmm. Told you, I have baggage.”

“And I do, too. Everyone does. Doesn’t mean I need to go running for the hills. It’s not like you said you want to cook and eat people.”

“Oh! _That’s_ where you draw the line. Cannibalism. Got it.”

“Nothing about you makes me want to go running, if that’s what you’re worried about. More the opposite, really,” Eddie said, grabbing up his cup of wine (in a juice glass just like Richie’s since he didn’t even own wine glasses). “Hearing all that makes me just want to hug you. Keep you safe...”

“Well, I do like hugging,” Richie said. 

Little by little, they found a comfortable way to sit on the couch where Richie was laying with his back against Eddie’s chest so Eddie could hold him. He drank his wine while Eddie sipped at his—not enjoying it in the slightest—and cuddled more and more the more he drank. They weren’t talking much now, just sitting together and cuddling. It’d been a while since Eddie had gotten to cuddle anyone and he already felt the butterflies stirring up again whenever Richie would sigh and nestle closer. 

“You know… If you’re up for it, I do have some storybooks. I could read you one before we go to bed if you’d like.”

Richie took in a sharp breath, like the thought startled him, then slowly relaxed back against Eddie’s chest. 

“I do like storybooks...”

“I’ll let you pick, but only if you brush your teeth before bed.”

“Brush my teeth? I didn’t bring my toothbrush.”

“You can use your finger. It works just as well.”

“Not very hygienic,” Richie said.

“Wash your hands first.”

“I can pick any book?” Richie asked, as if trying to avoid the topic of washing up.

“Any one that I have. Just not a chapter book. It’s gettin’ late.”

“Okay… But will you stay with me until I fall sleep? It’s hard sleeping in weird places… Unless you’re gonna let me finish the bottle. I finish a bottle of this stuff and I’m going to be knocked the fuck out.”

“I was thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if you just slept in my room with me. Then when the story’s over, we can both just go to sleep. Only if you want to, though.”

Richie tilted his head back so he could meet Eddie’s gaze—the expression on his face damned near asking if Eddie was fucking dumb.

“Do I get a kiss goodnight first? Can’t sleep with a guy without a kiss goodnight.”

“Only if you brush your teeth first.”

“Not budging on that, huh?”

“No.”

“See? You can be dominant. You’re not as much of a pushover as you think.”

“I draw the line at good hygiene.”

“In that case, do you want me to wash my swampy ass crack, too?”

Eddie let out a sigh and shook his head. “If you’re offering to take a whole shower for me, that’d be great.”

“Only if you come in with me.”

“I’ll pass on that one for tonight.”

“What, you don’t want to see me naked? I promise I’m not all talk. It’s thick like a soda can and long like a—”

“I don’t… I don’t want to know that.”

“Oh… Am I spoiling the surprise? Or did you just figure out you’re not gay?”

“I like men very much and no it’s not about spoiling the surprise. You’ve had something to drink. I can’t take advantage like that!”

“I’ve had half a glass! It’s _wine,_ Eds, not fuckin’ Everclear.”

“Well, either way, that’s too much after you’ve been drinking. Brushed teeth is all I ask.”

“I sleep naked.”

“Then I’ll sleep solo. Thank you.”

“Ouch! Okay, okay. I’ll keep my skivvies on. Sheesh. You didn’t put in your profile that you were a prude.”

“I’m _not_ a prude! I just don’t want to take advantage!”

“Oh, my God. Take advantage… You’re ridiculous. C’mere.” 

“What?” The next thing Eddie knew, Richie’s hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him down into a sudden, gentle kiss. He felt the warmth rush through him, head to toe, and softly kissed back—trying not to be too forceful or seem too eager. Richie had to still be upset after everything he’d confessed tonight. Eddie had to be mindful of that. 

Richie, though, didn’t seem to care and kissed him three or four more times before Eddie told him it was time to put the wine up and go to bed. (A good half bottle went into his insulated coffee thermos and into the fridge.)

“Do you want to bring Mr. Toucan up to bed?” Eddie asked.

“I _do_ want to take Mr. Toucan to bed,” Richie said, grabbing up the stuffed bird from the couch. “Look how big he is! It’s gonna feel amazing.”

“Ew! Don’t say that!” Eddie said, shaking his head as he started up the stairs. Richie, behind him, giggling at his own joke—then repeatedly poking Eddie in the ass with the bill of the stuffed bird as he walked. 

If he was this silly when Big, how much more was he when little? Eddie almost couldn’t wait to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that it's all out in the open, what will Eddie do? Overcompensate, probably. That's a very Eddie thing to do. Thank you soooo much for reading! It makes me so happy to see people enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it!


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